


And All The Sinners Saints

by OrianDCate



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amatakka, Death Watch (Star Wars), F/M, Fialleril, Galidraan, Good Asajj, Good Dooku (Star Wars), Gray Jedi, Haat Mando'ade, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Grey, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tatooine Folklore (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Revolution (Star Wars), Time Travel, True Mandalorians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrianDCate/pseuds/OrianDCate
Summary: "Always Two, there are. No more; no less."Always there must be Balance. When Maul manages to take Obi-Wan with him to the grave in their final duel, the Force allows the two to travel back in time, righting the wrongs of the past in order to save the future. Neither the Jedi Order nor Sidious are prepared for a former Jedi and an ex-Sith following their own Rule of Two.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Shmi Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Asajj Ventress, Satine Kryze/Darth Maul
Comments: 102
Kudos: 655
Collections: Jedi Journals





	1. Oh, Take Me Back To The Start

Disclaimer: The wayward sons may not, in fact, carry on.

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_“Just as every cop is a criminal,_

_And all the sinners, saints!_

_As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer,_

_Cause I’m in need of some restraint!_

_So if you meet me, have some courtesy;_

_Have some sympathy, have some taste!_

_Use all your well-learned politics,_

_Or I’ll lay your soul to waste!”_

_\- “Sympathy for The Devil”, The Rolling Stones_

1) OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START

So, it had come to this.

For so long, he had had nothing but Kenobi. Kenobi to hunt, Kenobi to bleed, Kenobi to fight. A never-ending dance, with each slowly chipping away at the other, until very little of what they had once been was left. He almost wished it didn’t have to end; in some cruel trick of Fate, Kenobi had come to mean more to him than any one else. Even, eventually, his brother.

It shouldn’t have been this way. One or the other should have perished for good all those years ago, in that red-lit reactor shaft deep beneath the surface of Naboo. But the Force had decreed otherwise, and in doing so, had probably doomed the galaxy itself. If Kenobi had fallen, as Maul had intended, then the Chosen One would have been trained by another. One perhaps more alert to the plans and schemes of his former Master.

If instead, it had been _his_ destiny to die, then many other things would have been changed as well. Tyranus, Ventress, Savage, Vizla, the Duchess…the list went on and on and on. But here he was. And there was Kenobi. Silent. Watching. Sorrowful.

Even at the end, Kenobi was self-righteous enough to feel nothing but pity for him. He should have saved his pity for himself; in every possible way that it could have counted, Kenobi had failed. He had failed the Chosen One, the Chosen One’s Apprentice, his former Master, his ­ _Grand-_ Master, his precious Duchess…it might have been easier to compose a list of all the people Kenobi _hadn’t_ failed. The man hadn’t even been able to bring himself to finish off his former brother-in-arms, instead choosing to doom him to a life of mechanical hell. Anakin Skywalker was still trapped somewhere inside the skin of Darth Vader, and would remain there for some time to come. The Jedi liked to pretend they were not cruel; but Maul knew all too well have truly cold their precious Code was, and where its logical outcome inevitably led. ‘There is no Death; there is the Force’. The Force was all Vader had, now; Death had been denied him. And that it was practically the same Fate Kenobi had once granted him served only to stoke the fires of the Dark Side raging within.

He would _not_ allow his legacy to be that of a failed campaign against the greatest living failure of all time.

The red light of his blade cast the shifting sands into sharp relief, granting the appearance of a hellscape to the surrounding desert. Appropriate; and ironic. He knew full well where it was that Kenobi and Vader had dueled; that the world around them seemed to take on the same aspects as Mustafar in recognition of their coming duel spoke even louder to how Fate had destroyed both of their lives in a perfect rhyme.

Truth be told, he could almost find it in himself to pity Kenobi right back. The man had nothing left; no cause, no companions, no hope. He should’ve been just as tired and worn-down as Maul was; the only reason he was still going was the fact that it would all soon be over, one way or another.

So why then did he sense an iron determination under Kenobi’s stance?

There was…something else…something close…

Something _here._

He hissed through his teeth. So, Kenobi had finally found the true Chosen One. And had hidden him away on the one planet that Vader would not think to…

Look.

Kriff.

The Chosen One was Skywalker’s _child._ He didn’t know how; he didn’t know why. But he _knew._

And Kenobi planned to live, if only to begin training the child to slay its own parent.

Even to a former Sith like him, that was cold.

No.

He would not allow Kenobi to fail the galaxy again. If anyone could pull Skywalker from the clutches of the Dark and back into Balance, it would be his child. But if Kenobi were to brain-wash the child with all of the ‘points of view’ of the Jedi, then such a possibility would never so much as even occur to them.

He had been fully prepared to die at Kenobi’s hand. But now…now, he fully intended to keep _anyone,_ especially Kenobi, from interfering with the will of the Force again. Maul had removed the potential Master of a Skywalker once before; he fully intended to do the same for the next generation. He would see the lineage of Yoda, Dooku, and Jinn perish today, one way or the other.

Even if the effort killed him in the process.

He raised his ruby blade in salute.

He pitied Kenobi, yes. He hated him as well.

But today…today he could not afford to be less than honest with himself.

Kenobi had meant many things to him.

But whatever else, he had _always_ respected the Jedi.

If for no other reason than…

* * *

The man just did not know when to _give up._

Kenobi’s Soresu had shifted to accommodate the ever-changing terrain they now fought on. It was a much more efficient style, one designed to minimize unnecessary movement.

Unfortunate, then, that Maul’s preferred Juyo was designed for no other purpose than to get your opponent to _move._ In fact, the only reason they were currently locked in a standstill was just how poorly his mechanical legs were faring in this desert environment. Their weight was quite literally dragging him down, and he was beginning to fear that Kenobi might win this fight based solely on his ability to outlast him.

He steeled himself once more and pressed the attack. He could _not_ allow Kenobi to survive; he just _couldn’t._ All the hate, all the rage, all of it paled in comparison to this one singular focus: Kenobi must not be allowed to train the Chosen One. The fate of the Force itself depended on it.

If he were to die, and Kenobi were to live…

The entirety of the future flashed before his eyes, laid out as coldly and logically as Kenobi’s cruelty disguised as kindness. Skywalker’s child would kill Vader, yes, but Sidious would have counted on it. It had happened once before, to Dooku. He would gain a new apprentice, one with far more ability than the one he had discarded. The Empire would stand for eternity under an immortal Emperor, all threats to its power crushed mercilessly underfoot. Nal Hutta, Nar Shadaa, Jedha, Onderon, Mandalore…it was already beginning.

And if Kenobi succeeded, this new Skywalker would merely carry on his Master’s legacy, spreading terror and destruction across the galaxy. He would become Sith, Destroyer of Worlds.

With a roar, he made one final lunge, putting all his remaining strength into the strike. What did he care if Kenobi’s blade pierced him on the way down? His life was forfeit long ago. So long as he took Kenobi with him…

His humming blade buried itself in the Jedi’s chest.

…He could rest at peace.

A gurgle came from Kenobi’s throat. “Wh…why?”

There were so many answers he could have given. Would have given, if his time had not been short or his life slipping away. In the end, there were only two words he could offer by way of explanation…or of apology.

“You failed.”

The light faded from Kenobi’s eyes, and Maul hissed in pain as the Jedi’s lightsaber deactivated, leaving a gaping hole behind. He slowly lowered the old man’s body to the ground, and then painfully rolled to lay beside it.

Stars. He’d hoped there’d be stars…

So _many_ of them.

As if from a great distance, he heard a child’s exclamation of wonder, and of confidence. _“One day, I’m gonna see ‘em all!”_

One star in particular seemed to shine brighter than the rest; as if it were closer than all the others.

_“It’s like poetry; it rhymes.”_

He was moving. He couldn’t say how; all he knew was that he was.

He thought he caught a glimpse of Kenobi, out of the corner of his eye. If Kenobi were glowing blue, and a whole lot younger than he’d been ten seconds before, that was.

_“Luminous beings, we are. Not this crude matter!”_

The world was changing around him. Everything was fading to black; all but the stars. Those were drawing together, forming lines, patterns, shapes.

_“Always two, there are. No more; no less.”_

And the star from before, the one that had outshone all the others, was indeed coming closer.

Just before it’s light obscured his vision entirely, he thought he caught one last echo, as if a whisper he was not meant to overhear.

_“Always in motion, the future is. If now you go, help them you could, but…you would destroy all for which they have fought, and suffered.”_

This time, there was no doubt it was Kenobi that answered. _“From a certain point of view.”_

Then everything went black.

* * *

His eyes snapped open.

His legs…he had his legs back. After so long without them, it was far easier to notice their return than their absence.

He looked down to see for himself, to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him…and instead realized his lightsaber was once more in his hand. And ignited. Both ends. He deactivated them…and heard a gasp of pain from behind.

He whirled.

Jinn. Qui-Gonn Jinn, Jedi Master, the very same man he had killed oh so many years ago, was standing there.

And then he was falling.

He lunged forward, catching the Jedi before he hit the ground. So, this was the afterlife, was it? Being forced to relive every death you had ever caused, every hurt you had ever brought? In some cultures, it was believed you could only ever truly pass on once you made peace with the souls of all those you had wronged.

If that were true, Maul had a feeling it would take him quite a long while to move on.

Best get on with it, then. He wasn’t getting any younger.

“I am…sorry. You fought bravely, and well. Perhaps things would have been better if I had let you live. You certainly deserved it more than I. I’m sorry.”

He fully expected Kenobi’s lightsaber to separate his head from his neck; he hadn’t forgotten the Jedi’s cry of rage at his Master’s fall. Instead, footsteps from behind signaled a slow, steady approach. One unaccompanied by the distinctive hum of a lightsaber.

“So, this was what Yoda meant. Always two, there are. Just once, I’d like that little green troll to give me a straight explanation.”

…Kenobi wasn’t making any sense at all. “If you’re going to kill me, then be my guest. I shall not deny you your justice. But first, I ask that you let me try and fix what I have done.”

“…You want to heal him? Why?”

“This is the afterlife, is it not? Where one goes to make atonement. If I had felled you instead of your Master, perhaps Skywalker would not have Fallen. Perhaps I could have found redemption. So, I will do what I can to make things right.”

Kenobi was silent. “…So be it. If this is the will of the Force, then I will assist.”

 _That_ sounded far more like the Jedi Master that Kenobi had become than the Apprentice he currently was. He looked up…and was met with a pair of eyes that were about sixty years too old for the face they were set in.

Kriffing hells. To be forced to share an afterlife with Kenobi as well? Oh, the indignity.

But he would suffer through it. He would do what needed to be done.

He stretched out with the Force, pushing and willing what he could into Master Jinn’s wound. Despite what the Jedi liked to believe, healing came much easier to practitioners of the Dark Side. To heal someone implied you wished to see their situation improved, which required a certain level of care and attachment in order to truly succeed. The Sith preferred to twist that attachment, to view those they healed as mere valuable chess pieces they preferred not to lose. The Jedi discarded it entirely, preferring to focus instead on the subjective view of how the Light of the world would be dimmed if just one life was extinguished. Which allowed them to do whatever the hell they liked to anyone they considered Dark…except heal them. A Sith could heal a Jedi, but a Jedi could not heal a Sith. Now that’s what you call ironic.

But now, he could sense Kenobi reaching out as well, sinking into the emotions of _love_ and _care_ that the Jedi so rigorously guarded against. And, he was pleased to note, just a twinge of regret alongside. If Kenobi were to end up suffering as much as he through the course of this experience…then perhaps he could learn to live with it.

Live with it; good one.

The last edges of the wound stitched themselves closed…and then Jinn gave an almighty gasp. He coughed a few times, and then grabbed Kenobi by the shirt. “Obi-Wan…the boy…”

“He’ll be fine, Master. And so will you.”

“He is…the Chosen One…”

“I know, Master. And you will have your chance to train him.”

Jinn’s expression seemed to melt into one of relief. The Jedi Master’s eyes shut once more; this time in sleep, rather than death.

Good. Out of all of Yoda’s lineage, Jinn was perhaps the most suited to deal with Skywalker. They had been very much alike, from all accounts. They would do well together; perhaps well enough to defeat Sidious.

He closed his eyes as well, preparing to be swept off to wherever the Force willed next.

He waited. And waited.

And waited.

“Whatever _are_ you doing, Maul?”

“In case it slipped your notice, _Kenobi,_ our job here is done. We have saved your Master, and thus the galaxy. I am merely preparing myself to deal with whatever next the Force sends our way.”

Kenobi laughed. “Whatever next the Force has in store for us, I’m afraid we’re going to have to go out and find it, my friend. This is not the afterlife, Maul; this is the past. A second chance, for the both of us. You would not _believe_ the lengths I had to go to get even myself back this far; and part of what the Force did to Balance what _I_ did was to, apparently, send you back with me. For the time being, we are stuck together.”

…No. Kriffing. Way.

He was to be forced to relive all of that _again?_

All the blood, all the rage, all the war, all the…

All the nothing.

Those things…those terrible, terrible things…

They hadn’t happened yet.

And if he had his way, he’d make sure they never would.

He stood.

“Well, if we are truly to be ‘stuck together’, as you put it, then I believe it would be for the best if we traveled together.”

Kenobi’s eyebrows jumped. “You would willingly come with us back to the Jedi Temple?”

He grinned. “Never in a thousand years. My Master will be looking for me; if for no other reason than an explanation for what happened here today.”

“So we fake your death. We…”

“Absolutely do _not_ do that. Don’t you see? Sidious will always suspect something; you of Falling, or me of surviving. If you were to…come with me…we could play on those suspicions. He will believe that I have begun to plot against him, to replace him. That I was able to tempt you to join with me to defeat him, and that the price of your help was the salvation of your Master. He will have no choice but to accelerate his plans, discarding important parts in his haste. Parts that we can turn back against him. But only if the Jedi have no hand in it.”

“I…” Kenobi began. And then stopped himself. “…You are correct. Sidious web stretches everywhere, even into the Order. It must be taken apart from the outside. I will…come with you.”

“Excellent. We will take my ship; I am well-acquainted with the methods Sidious uses to track it. We can easily avoid his detection, and pass back down the Hydian Way.”

“And what’s down the Hydian Way?”

“Rattatak.”

“…You want to recruit Ventress.”

“Why not? She is powerful. She would make either a fine ally…or a terrible enemy. If we were to manage to save her Master, as we saved yours, perhaps she might decide to become the former.”

“…True. But if we were to be successful in that endeavor, perhaps it would be best if we attempted it with more than just the two of us.”

“And just where do you propose we get reinforcements, Kenobi?”

“You said itself; down the Hydian Way. What particular planet along that hyper-lane do you know that specializes in mercenary warfare?”

“…You want to hire Mandalorians.”

“We only need to hire one, actually. And I have the advantage in that I know just where he’s going to be; and what he’s going to be doing.”

There was only _one_ Mandalorian warrior he knew of that Kenobi could possibly be referring to. Only one that had ever managed to give Kenobi a true run for his money; only one who had ever managed to kill five Jedi with his bare hands.

“…You can’t be serious. You want to hire _Fett?”_

“Hire, no. Offer in trade, and maybe apologize to? Yes. If we get to him first with the offer of building a clone army to use against the Jedi, perhaps he’ll be more open when Sifo-Diyas places the actual order.”

“When who does what?”

“I’ll explain later. The end result would be the same, a clone army for the Republic. But one where everyone involved thinks that we’re on the up an up. If we can bring Dooku into it before Sidious gets his claws into him, we might just be able to play the Separatists as well. Not to mention save Sifo-Diyas, one Jedi Master I’d very much like to keep alive for now. After all, we’re going to need someone trustworthy around to deal with any force-sensitive clones that turn up.”

“Is that even possible?”

“It happened a few times, yes. But if we can keep things running smoothly, maybe draw Fett back into Mandalorian politics, we can keep Death Watch from rising again. Did you know that they were the ones ultimately responsible for Galidraan?”

“…I confess I did not.”

“Its amazing what you can get away with when you have Trade Federation backing. If we can prove it to him, he just might see his way clear to help us against Sidious.”

“Which one, Fett or Dooku?”

“Both, I guess. At this point, I’d willingly take either of them.”

“…You make a good case. Sidious will be looking for a new apprentice of his own; and Serenno is just beyond the Mid-Rim. If you can pass a message to Dooku through Jinn, we might just be able to deny Sidious one of his potential recruits.”

“So, we’re agreed, then? Mandalore, Rattatak, then Serenno?”

He nodded. “Yes. And after…wherever the Force wills it.”


	2. Took A Car Downtown Where The Lost Boys Meet

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_Author's Note: All the Mando'a used in this chapter comes from the Author's fuzzy memories of the "Star Wars:_ _Republic Commando" books and game. Please forgive me for my poor pronunciation, spirit of Canderous Ordo._

_Vode an._

* * *

2) TOOK A CAR DOWNTOWN WHERE THE LOST BOYS MEET

Kenobi stared. “ _That’s_ your ship.”

“The _Infiltrator,_ yes.”

“Huh. I don’t believe I’ve ever gotten the chance to see it before now.”

“Oh? Curious. I would have thought the Nabooan forces would have seized it for immediate investigation.”

“I’m fairly certain I would have heard if they had done so. The only reason I can think of for such a failure on their part would be…Palpatine. I did think it odd the newly-elected Chancellor of the Republic chose to arrive as early as he did, even if it was his home planet. Three-for-one, I guess: publicity, dealing with the Trade Federation Viceroys, and apparently, the disposal of your vessel.”

“Truly legendary efficiency. Even for a Sith. But it is his efficiency that will be his undoing: remove a few pieces from the board, and he loses all ability to play the game.”

“Let us hope you are right, old friend.” Kenobi sighed. “We had better be on our way; as soon as possible. It would be to our advantage to use the space battle as cover for our escape.”

“I can assure you, Kenobi, I am more than capable of performing a subtle exit. _Especially_ in the _Infiltrator.”_

“And why’s that, then?”

“It has a cloaking device.”

“…Well, that certainly explains where the Republic was able to procure something that delicate on such sort notice. Palpatine had been working on it for decades by then.”

“An escapade of your from the Wars?”

“Less mine than Anakin’s. Did you ever have the misfortune of crossing paths with Admiral Trench?”

“If even _you’re_ willing to categorize his presence as a misfortune, then it pleases me very much to truthfully reply no.”

“Very dangerous enemy. I’ll have to fill you in on him later.”

“Kenobi, if this is going to work, I anticipate we’re each going to have to do a lot of filling in for the other.”

“You’re probably more right than you know, my friend.”

“No such thing as ‘probably’, Kenobi. The Force does not work based on likelihoods and percentages.”

“I believe you. After you, then.”

* * *

As Kenobi had predicted, the battle was the perfect distraction for their escape. The light show of the Federation battleship’s destruction at the end (courtesy of young Skywalker) provided the perfect opportunity to jump to lightspeed, wiping out all after-effects of de-cloaking for the hyperdrive to activate.

Once he was well-assured they were on their way, he stood from the pilot’s chair. “Kenobi: in the third compartment behind you, I believe you will find three full sets of Mandalorian armor. Pure beskar. It will be necessary, should we wish to blend in.”

Kenobi nodded in agreement. “Can’t say I’m happy about wearing it without swearing the _Resol’nare,_ but it’s still better than being mistaken for an _aruetii.”_

“Kenobi, anyone who’s ever seen you in _beskar’gam_ would have absolutely no doubts about your right to wear it, _Resol’nare_ or not.”

Kenobi halted halfway through his removal of the armor. “…Didn’t know you spoke _Mando’a.”_

“When learning how to rule a people, Kenobi, it is always wise to learn their language if you don’t already. And my…former Master…may or may not have instructed me in the greatest warrior cultures of the galaxy. Although, looking at that armor again, I do have to wonder about his choice to have it emblazoned with the emblem of the True Mandalorians.”

“Considering he was indirectly responsible for Galidraan, and was more than willing to use Fett as the template for the clones, perhaps he thought he might have use of it in future negotiations with the _Mand’alor.”_

“Likely. Which means that he more than likely has a few sets of _Kyr’stad beskar_ in storage.”

THUNK!

“You mean like this one?”

“…Precisely. We’ll have to get rid of those markings if we ever hope to use that particular set.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Any paint around here?”

“Top fifth compartment on the wall behind you. You get started on that; in the meantime, I plan to pull out every single failsafe Sidious left behind in this piece of engineering.”

“That must be quite a lot.”

“Oh, trust me. It’s more. I must not be disturbed during the process; some of these measures can only be deactivated by delicate application of the Dark Side. And there are some that will blow us into atoms should I get the steps mixed wrong.”

“…Duly noted. Would you like me to paint your armor as well?”

“Yes. Sidious might have the patterns logged somewhere; new paint should hold us for now until we can get fitted pieces.”

“Any specific colors?”

“Guess.”

“…Black and red it is, then!”

Black, for justice. And red, for _aay’han._ The Mandalorian word for the duality of life; mourning, and joy. Death, and celebration. Balance. Perfection.

Ironic.

Maul sighed, and settled down to begin the first extraction. Hopefully, he would be finished with all the trackers before Sidious deduced their ultimate destination. The fact they were headed down the Hydian Way gave him a bit more time to work with; the list of stops available along this particular hyperspace route could fill an entire datapad. Much harder to logically narrow down the potential choices.

He hoped.

* * *

“…Black and _gold,_ Kenobi?”

“What? Black for justice, gold for vengeance. And I thought it best to at least bear some resemblance to your own paint job; higher chance of us being mistaken as brothers.”

He did his best to ignore the flash of pain he felt at the mention of the word ‘brothers’. Apparently, he didn’t do as good of a job as he’d believed, judging by how Kenobi’s face immediately fell.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m…I didn’t mean…”

And that was the worst thing; he truly hadn’t. He hadn’t meant to dredge up what few memories Maul had of his brother, of the one constant he’d thought he’d be able to hold onto forever. Black and gold…Savage’s coloring.

He steeled himself. “Perfectly understandable, Kenobi. And you make a good point about the resemblance; hopefully it will buy us more favor in Fett’s favor.”

He should have known better than to think that would be the end of it.

“…How did he die? Your brother? I didn’t know until I felt your…loss…just now. It can’t have been Ventress; she wouldn’t have been able to keep something like that from Vos…”

“No, not Ventress. Sidious himself. He came to Mandalore, right after your own escape. Slaughtered my brother right in front of me…took the Darksaber…tortured me with lightning… _and there was nothing I could do.”_

Thankfully, Kenobi didn’t offer him any useless platitudes on how ‘regret was pointless’ or how he should ‘let go of his feelings’. It would have been a bit hypocritical, to say the least.

Instead, all Kenobi said was…

“Sometimes, there just isn’t anything you can do. But there’s always something you can do afterwards to make it better. I can’t promise you justice; and I know you wouldn’t accept it even if I offered. All I can do is swear that I will do my best to see you have your vengeance.”

“…Not a very Jedi attitude, Kenobi.”

“Not very much of a Jedi. Never was, actually. Did you ever hear about the time I left the Order to lead a children’s rebellion?”

“…No, I don’t believe I ever did. A rebellion, you say?”

And with that, Kenobi launched into the retelling of the war of Melidaa/Daan, and for a time, Maul forgot that he had once regarded the man sitting across from him as nothing more than a failure. A failure of a Jedi? Absolutely. But it had never been clearer to Maul that to fail at being a Jedi didn’t automatically make one a failure in the eyes of the Force.

Or to fail at being a Sith, for that matter.

He would have see if he could persuade Kenobi to take a trip to Dathomir in the near future. Somehow, he didn’t think it would be terribly difficult.

* * *

Qui-Gonn awoke to a voice he hadn’t heard in…oh, eight years at least.

“Still getting into trouble then, my old Padawan.”

Qui-Gonn smiled. “If I’m old, what does that make you?” And then promptly dissolved into a fit of coughing.

“Here; drink.”

There was no mistaking _that_ tone; he’d only spent the majority of his life answering whatever order it disguised.

Water; cold, crisp, refreshing, _delicious,_ water.

When at last he could speak again, he turned his head to get a better view of his former Master. “So…what happened?”

Yan Dooku, Jedi Master, sighed. “We were rather hoping _you_ could tell us that, Qui-Gonn.”

“We?”

“MASTER QUI-GONN!”

Oh, right. Anakin.

“Young Skywalker, I distinctively remember the Healers stating that Master Qui-Gonn was not to be excited in any way.”

“Yelling doesn’t count as exciting! And besides, you were gonna excite him first.”

“Was I indeed?”

Only Qui-Gonn could have recognized the imperiously raised eyebrow for what it was; amusement. Anyone else would assume that Anakin was about to have his entire opinion of himself reduced to ashes.

Well, anyone except for apparently Anakin himself, who just kept right on going.

“Yep! Cause you were gonna tell him about the battle, and the fleet, and the Federation, and the Sith, and the…”

“Yes, yes, I can assure you I get the point, young Skywalker. But for your information, I was only going to inform him of _some_ of those subjects and their outcomes. With Qui-Gonn here, you must learn: it is always better to give him all or nothing, than to leave him to stew in his own deductions from partial information.”

“Yes sir, Master Dooku.”

Qui-Gonn blinked. “… _Master?”_

Yan nodded. “Indeed. The Council has granted me permission to train young Skywalker here; it was practically a foregone conclusion once the circumstances surrounding his latest…escapade…became known.”

Escapade?

“…Anakin, pardon me if I’m wrong, but I think I remember telling you quite clearly to stay in that cockpit.”

“But I did!”

“Padawan.”

“Sorry sir. I mean, I did, Master Qui-Gonn. But there were more droids than the Queen could handle, so I fired up the cannons, but to do that I had to start the ship, and then the ship had an autopilot, and I couldn’t get it turned off until we, me and R2 I mean, we were already in the fight, and then I sort of accidentally ended up in the hangar bay, and then I may…have…blown up the ship from the inside.”

Qui-Gonn blinked. And then blinked again.

And then fainted.

“You see, my young apprentice? Excited.”

Anakin shuffled awkwardly from side to side. “I’m sorry.”

“Lesson one, Padawan. Sorry gets you very little in this universe. Don’t be sorry; be better, instead. Now, let’s go and inform the Healers that Qui-Gonn is resting again.”

“But what about the excitement?”

Dooku merely raised his eyebrow yet again. “Excitement? What excitement? Your mind must be playing you tricks, my young Padawan. Come, Skywalker. We have much to attend to.”

…Something told Anakin he was gonna get along _real_ well with Master Dooku.

Really, really well.

* * *

“Of course, your Majesty. I completely understand.”

He gave a short bow to Queen Amidala, who replied with aa slight one of her own.

Barely had the door slid shut behind her before he allowed his rage to openly show once again.

HOW?

How could it all have managed to go so horribly wrong in such a short time?

The Jedi; that was where it had all started. The _Jedi._ The Chancellor (former Chancellor) should never have brought them into it. He knew the old man had needed a decisive victory to avoid spending what little political capital that he’d retained from the Stark-Hyperspace War and the Ysalimari conflict. He just hadn’t expected the fool to gamble everything on the equivalent of a bluffed Idiot’s Array.

Idiot’s Array. That’s exactly what they’d been, too; Master Qui-Gonn Jinn, the very definition of the word renegade. And his stickler for the rules Apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. They had somehow not only managed to avoid death avoid the Federation battleship, but to convince the primitive Gungans to ally with the hopelessly outnumbered Naboo. And then, _and then,_ they’d had the absolute _gall_ to help the Queen escape all the way to Coruscant.

But things had seemed alright again after that; the vote of no confidence, the election, the Queen’s return to Naboo…he couldn’t have had a better martyr to hand if he’d custom-ordered one.

But not only had the insufferable girl refused to either surrender or die, the _Jedi_ had somehow managed to defeat his own carefully trained Apprentice. And in such a manner that left no doubt in his mind that said Apprentice had been doing a bit of planning on his own initiative.

Such drives should have been stamped out of Maul a long time ago; that they were not was a complete surprise to him. An extremely _unwelcome_ surprise.

His Apprentice had elected to take an Apprentice of his own. And in a manner completely contrary to the brutal nature he’d done his best to instill in him. It was subtly done; the supposedly fatal blow, the faked expression of remorse, the offer of salvation for the Master should the Padawan follow him instead. Despite the lack of audio on the reactor’s recordings, he could well imagine the seeds of doubt Maul had planted in Kenobi’s mind. And Kenobi had indeed already been ripe ground for such seeds to take root.

He had investigated into the Apprentice’s history, searching for what could have drawn Maul to him…and found everything. Melidaa/Daan, Mandalore, Bandomeer…a long list of grievances for one so young to hold against the Jedi if he were so inclined. And, apparently, he had been. It was a manipulation truly worthy of a Sith. Maul’s very first act as such.

It was truly a shame it had been done for his own advancement, and not Sidious’.

No matter. He would find his wayward Apprentice; and should Kenobi have truly embraced the Dark Side before then, perhaps he would grant the Jedi a chance to escape death and take Maul’s place at his side.

But if he were to be successful, he must continue to insist that there was no possible way for the Sith to have returned. That the actions of the assassin in no way, shape, or form were anything more than those of a Dark Side user of some skill that had been employed by the Trade Federation. It would hurt his position with the Viceroys as Chancellor to have the Jedi poking around looking for evidence…but it would strengthen Sidious’ ties as the exact same time.

Yes….yes, he could use this.

He turned his mind to the wheels of commerce and trade, putting aside all thoughts of revenge for the moment. He was patient; he could wait.

After all, the Sith had already been waiting for well over a millennium.

What harm could a little longer do?

* * *

He noticed them the minute they walked through the door.

Brothers, it looked like; one or the other of them adopted. And it probably hadn’t happened until they were both full grown.

The taller one seemed to radiate power and confidence; but the kind that came from experience, not arrogance. Black with a red border; someone who was prepared to not only seize the day, but throttle it as well. He would bet on the taller to take any and all of his fellow patrons in the cantina…except, perhaps, for his brother.

Said brother was obviously no less experienced than his taller family member; but had opted to diversify his talents to better deal with multiple kinds of situations, rather than take his brother’s approach of specialization in one subject. Black with gold trim, this time. To anyone less than a true Mandalorian, the double meaning of his armor’s coloring would have flown completely over their heads. No less of a fighter, but one who was more than capable of hiding his true motives beneath fancy words and defensive smiles. The carrot to match his brother’s stick.

It spoke volumes that they stood shoulder to shoulder, no one clear leader between them. Where one was stronger, the other would withdraw, and where one was weak, the other would advance. Whatever they’d seen and done together, it had obviously been enough to forge the bonds of family between them.

And judging by the symbols painted on their shoulder-pads, they had both come for him.

 _Ha’at Mando’ade,_ both of them. Neither had been at Galidraan, obviously. He knew for a fact he’d been the only survivor that day. But for someone new to take up that mantle, then it seemed logical they knew something he didn’t. And that they had every intention of letting him know, as was his right as _Mand’alor._

Too bad he wasn’t planning on listening.

The minute one’s gaze locked onto his position, the other’s whirled to match it. So, they were communicating under their _buy’ce._ He would’ve expected no less from professionals. What he wasn’t expecting was for both men to immediately head straight for his table. Information must’ve been both urgent and sensitive, if they weren’t willing to leave on or the other on guard duty while the other spoke to him.

Or perhaps they’d just heard about his legendary stubbornness and decided two heads would be better than one.

The end result was the same: both dropped simultaneously into the chairs across from him, and without a word, removed their _buy’ce._

Huh. _Definitely_ adopted, then. Unless he’d missed something important about Zabrak-Human reproduction.

The shorter one, the human, went first. So, this was the negotiation phase then. He settled in for what was undoubtedly going to be an exceptionally long and flowery speech. Which was why he nearly fell out of his chair when the human dropped the bombshell he did.

“ _Kyr’stad_ was responsible for Galidraan.”

If he’d actually been drinking, he had no doubt he would have sprayed _tihaar_ everywhere. And would’ve done so again at the Zabrak’s follow-up.

“And the Trade Federation gave them the funding to do it.”

“…And just how did you happen to come by _that_ particular information?”

The human leaned forward. “We paid for it. From the Republic. Turns out they kept investigating after it was supposedly all over, and found out the Federation and _Kyr’stad_ arranged the whole thing to have their two greatest enemies go full tilt at each other.”

“…And I suppose you can prove all this?”

“Please.” The Zabrak scoffed. “Would we go straight to the _Mand’alor_ without everything we needed to convince you?”

The human one bumped his shoulder against his brother’s. “Maul.”

The Zabrak immediately backed off, leaning back in his chair. So, Maul was his name. Dathomirian. Interesting. He’d have to see what he could dig up on him later. “I can understand why you came to me with this; I can also understand why you’d be willing to go to the Republic to get it. But what I don’t understand, is why the Republic just let some random Mandalorians walk off with something this explosive for mere _credits.”_

“They didn’t. For one, they picked us because we’re some of the only _Ha’at Mando’ade_ willing to deal with the Republic in any way whatsoever. For another, we paid in something a bit more…universal…than credits.”

He didn’t like where this was going. “Oh?”

“Favors. The Republic hired us to approach you with a potential line of jobs, all meant to both benefit you, us, and them.”

“What sort of jobs?”

Maul rejoined the conversation. “Raids on Federation sanctioned enterprises, for one. They made a big mistake attempting to blockade the new Chancellor’s home planet; the Republic wants to know just how deep their fingers are stuck in. And eventually….I think it best if you field this one, Kenobi.”

The human crossed one leg over the other. “I believe you’re correct. We already know a bit more about Federation than most; including the fact that they’ve been in communication with planets like Geonosis. _Manufacturing_ planets. Ones that specialize on only one area: armaments.”

“…The Federation’s planning to go to war.”

“Maybe. Probably. But we can’t say for sure. That’s part of our job, to find out. What might eventually end up being _your_ job is the creation of a…fail-safe…for the Republic should the unthinkable happen.”

“…In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t exactly enough true Mandalorians left to go to war with anybody.”

“Believe me, we tried to point that out to them. All they did was assure us they had a plan in place, and that the most you’d be required for was the training aspect.”

“Is that all you managed to find out?”

“Not quite. We were supposed to be one-way agents; the jobs are passed along to us, and when they’re done, we all get paid. But we did a little more poking around, and found the names of the people they might send after us with the final offer: Sifo-Diyas, and Tyranus. The former is a Jedi Master that left the Order after hearing about Galidraan, but we haven’t been able to dig anything up about the other. Likely a codename for a personal agent of the Chancellor’s.”

He nodded. “Likely.”

He mentally reviewed everything that the two brothers had told him. Galidraan was supposed to have been a fight with _Kyr’stad_ in the first place; if the Governor had sent the same message to the _Jeda’ii_ that he’d sent the _Mando’ade,_ and deliberately left out the one vital detail differentiating the two sects…he could easily see how the whole thing could have been dismissed as a series of unfortunate events. Except by either those who were there that day, or those paranoid enough to disbelieve any official explanation put out by either side.

That the two paranoids in front of him had been still willing to deal with the Republic afterwards showed that they were either much more subtle at gathering information than the usual Mandalorian, or they had recognized from the start that the Republic had been taken in just as much as he had. That the only _Jeda’ii_ involved in the operation was a member that had willingly left said a good deal about the suspicions held by the controllers. If the _Jeda’ii_ had been in on it as well as the Federation…no. The _Jeda’ii_ would never betray their own like that. Or would they? He wondered just what it was that had made this ‘Sifo-Diyas’ leave the Order in the first place…perhaps he discovered something he hadn’t been meant to?

For once, his curiosity overcame his survival instincts. He really, _really,_ wanted to see just how deep this gundark hole went. “…Fine. I’m in. What’s the first job?”

The brothers shared a look, and then leaned back in. “Have you ever heard of a planet called Rattatak? Specifically, the group of pirates occupying the system who’s source of funding is still a complete mystery?”

“…No, no I haven’t.”


	3. Oh Brother, I Can't Get Through

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_Author’s Note: As if my life weren’t complicated enough already, I’ve decided to see just how long I can string this fic out without resorting to Obi-Wan’s point of view. That’s on top of the fact that I still don’t know exactly where this fic is going. Oi vey. Needless to say, expect updates to be few and far-between._

_And now, back to your irregularly scheduled progamming…_

* * *

3) OH BROTHER, I CAN’T GET THROUGH

Jango Fett would never admit it, but he was well and truly jealous of the technology the two brothers had managed to swipe from the Republic.

A state-of-the-art interceptor with experimental stealth drive? Oh, _kriff_ yes.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Custom Verpine shatterguns, undetectable probe droids, jetpacks, the list went on and on. Not to mention all the slicing capabilities they could ever possibly need.

All of which made it ridiculously easy for the brothers to dock with the main pirate vessel without being noticed.

They still insisted on using _Slave I_ as bait, however.

Not that Jango was complaining that much. Most of the vessels currently hounding him through the airspace of Rattatak were being flown by the usual incompetent pilots that unchecked piracy inevitably produced. And every single one he shot down was another slaver _hut’uun_ removed permanently from the galaxy at large.

Under his _buy’ce,_ he allowed himself the luxury of a smile. It had been _far_ too long since he got in some decent target practice.

The brothers’ plan hadn’t been all that bad to start with. Distraction, slip in, slice the files they needed, free the slaves being held on the command ship, and then use the confusion to make their escape. But Jango had felt their plan had been missing a little something…extra.

Seismic charges weren’t cheap. But if you managed to drop an entire canyon wall on an entire fleet chasing you, and then sold the remains for scrap, then they totally became worth it. And with said fleet no longer around to threaten the operation, that humongous, slow-moving _Lucrehulk_ sitting in orbit became not only the perfect escape hatch for all the escaped slaves, but also an excellent transport for all that lovely, tradeable salvage.

That the slaves would be making their way to freedom aboard a vessel manufactured by the Trade Federation was just the height of the situation’s irony.

Now, if his sensors could just find him a canyon deep enough and long enough…

* * *

“As we expected. Not just the Trade Federation here. Gardulla the Hutt was more than happy to take the majority of their ‘cargo’ off their hands, for truly barbaric prices.”

“Barbaric prices or not, it will still be more than enough credits for us to continue with the plan.”

Maul fully expected Kenobi to respond with some platitude about the ‘inherent value of human life’, but when the response failed to come, he turned back to his companion to find…

Kenobi’s face had gone ashen white.

Kriff.

“Please tell me you haven’t discovered something that requires our immediate and swift attention, because in case you happened to forget, we still have around sixty hostiles aboard this vessel to deal with, in addition to however many Fett will be facing down on the ground. So the sooner we can deal with the problem at hand, the better.”

Kenobi swallowed. “I…how could I forget? How could any of us just _forget?”_

Well _that_ didn’t sound good. “Forget? Kenobi, forget _what?”_

“Anakin’s mother. _We forgot Anakin’s mother.”_

“…I was unaware he even had one.”

“Not _here,_ you _di’kut._ Back in the other timeline. We promised him; we said that we’d come back for her… _and we never did._ ”

“…And you wonder why he was so quick to Turn. The Rako Hardeen incident, his Padawan’s trial, and then the abandonment of his mother on top of everything else? It’s a wonder he didn’t Fall sooner…”

Kenobi at least had the decency to look guilty. “Actually…”

“ _Osik,_ Kenobi. You mean to tell me that Skywalker had already Fallen once before, come back from the Dark, _and it never occurred to you he might Fall again?”_

“Well, it wasn’t exactly his own fault he Fell the first time…and I thought that whatever the Father did to bring him back removed the possibility entirely…”

Maul just barely resisted the urge to bang his head on the console. “Kenobi, the minute we get out of here, we are heading straight to Tatooine. And on the way, you are going to sit down and tell me _everything_ that happened to the two of you during the Wars, whether you feel it’s important or not.”

“Oh trust me, Mortis was _extremely_ important. And you deserve to hear all about it. But as you said, at this moment we have sixty odd pissed off pirates all looking to turn us into nerf steaks...”

Kenobi tapped a button on the holo-screen in front of him. “…And about two hundred former slaves who just had their detonators deactivated. Congratulations, Maul. We just liberated our first planet. Now let’s go give the _hut’uune_ something else to worry about before they notice.”

The door directly behind them began to glow with the heat of a plasma torch.

Maul responded by igniting half of his lightstaff. “Somehow, I don’t think they’re going to be noticing much of anything very shortly.”

Kenobi just stared.

“…What?”

“…For some reason, you just reminded me of an old legend they used to tell in the Temple creche. With the armor, and the red saber. Very Revan.”

“An altogether satisfactory person to emulate. Perhaps I should see about liberating his Holocron from my former Master…”

Kenobi’s eyes bugged out. “His _WHAT?”_

Maul chuckled. “As I said, Kenobi. Quite a lot of filling in to do, on both sides. But for now: _ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur.”_

Kenobi slowly nodded, and ignited his own cerulean blade. “I quite agree.”

The door crashed open.

And then the enemy was upon them.

* * *

Frankly, Fett was getting bored.

Trudging through a now collapsed canyon looking for surviving slavers was not his idea of a good time. Oh sure, sometimes he’d come across one that had a sizable bounty on their head, which he would then promptly claim, but for the most part, it was just _dull._ The cries, the whimpers, the executions, it all got very old very quickly.

And when at last he’d finished his walk in one direction, he immediately had to turn around and hike back to where he’d come from. There was still work to do, after all. The slaves may have had their chips deactivated, but most of them were still in cages. And weaponless. Not great odd for a revolution.

Hopefully the blasters he’d liberated from the slavers’ corpses would even them a bit.

The moment _Slave I_ came into sight around the canyon corner that he’d landed by, his _buy’ce_ connected to the comm relay aboard…and promptly lit up with a new message from Kenobi.

_“Fett. We’ve got what we needed, and more. But there’s something else on this planet the Republic neglected to mention that absolutely needs to be handled immediately. We’ve just interviewed some of the slaves aboard, and apparently, for the last ten years, a Jedi Master has been left stranded down there. In all that time, no one’s come looking for either him or the apprentice that he’s taken from the local populace. Which wouldn’t be suspicious, if it weren’t for the fact that said Jedi Master was apparently good friends with our very own Sifo-Diyas. Coincidence, or contrived exile? Your guess is as good as ours. But if there’s even a chance he knows something about all this, we should probably get to him before anyone else. Certainly before the Republic. If he’s smart, he’ll probably be near the main pirate encampment by now, planning a rescue or something like it. We’re coming as fast as we can, but you’re closer. Good luck.”_

_…_ Shaav’it.

Contrived exile of a Jedi Master. Not good. Things were beginning to point even harder in the direction of a giant Jedi conspiracy.

One which he was starting to suspect the two brothers had more of a hand in than they cared to admit.

The odds of the Republic paying them to take a job in this exact system that just so happened to have both a Trade Federation _and_ Jedi presence? Ridiculously low. The odds of the Republic knowing about one, and not the other? Even lower.

He’d known from the get-go that the brothers knew more than they were telling. That was to be expected; they _were_ trying to balance two sets of loyalties, after all. Their allegiance to the Republic’s credits, and their oaths to him as the _Manda’lor._ And so, he wasn’t about to jeopardize their position by forcing them to admit anything. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do a little digging on his own. He’d gone back and checked the Clan symbols etched on the brothers’ chest pieces: Bloodravens, both of them. A Clan that had gone extinct thousands of years earlier…during the Mandalorian Wars. Targeted by the _Jeda’ii_ specifically. Why?

Because they were the only Clan of Force Sensitive _Mando’ade_ in existence.

If the Republic was hiring Mandalorians that had a history of standing up to the Jedi and _winning…_ then perhaps, just perhaps…they were preparing the galaxy at large to do just exactly that. If Galidraan had been meant as more than just an elaborate trap…a purging, an audition…both, or neither…

Not good. Really, very extremely not good.

Fighting the Trade Federation and _Kyr’tsad_ was one thing. Fighting a shadowy organization _within_ the Jedi themselves?

That was something else entirely.

At least the pay would be good.

Maybe enough to call in a few friends as insurance…

* * *

They’d been too late.

They’d had no other option than to watch through the _Infiltrator’s_ dust-streaked windshield as Ky Nerac, Jedi Master, had fallen to a single blaster bolt from behind. And then to observe what came after.

Ventress truly was a terrifying opponent once she lost all inhibition. It had taken Maul and Kenobi working together seven minutes to put down sixty armed pirates; it took Ventress less than three to do half that on her own.

And she was still an Apprentice. Albeit now an Apprentice without a Master.

They’d sent the message to Fett before they’d even left the bridge; but judging by how _Slave I_ was just now touching down at the edge of the base, he’d apparently been out of comm range. And they themselves had been held up; not by the pirates, but by the slaves. Just how they’d managed to get the idea that Maul and Kenobi were just another group of traders barging in on another operation’s territory, Maul couldn’t say. But if he ever found out, he would cheerfully strap the culprit to his ship’s hull and burn atmo. It had cost them over ten minutes to talk the _di’kute_ into trusting him and Kenobi both. Ten minutes that had lasted, apparently, just a few seconds too long.

Oh, well. The only logical conclusion he could draw was that Ventress’ Fall had been the will of the Force; a fixed event, so to speak. He could only hope that what came after was a bit more…flexible. For all their sakes.

As much as he hated to admit it, Kenobi was still best equipped to handle Ventress. Even when she’d turned to the Dark in the old timeline, she and Kenobi had always shared a certain…connection, even while at each other’s throats. And Kenobi had always been far better at the whole ‘consolation’ thing. Not to mention Kenobi himself knew exactly what it was like to lose one’s Master.

Oh sweet Force, Ventress was _crying._ And Kenobi was _hugging her._ And as if that weren’t bad enough, she was _hugging him back._

Jedi. For all that talk of peace and serenity, once an emotion wormed its way into their thick skulls, it latched on firmly.

Kriff that. He was going to talk to Fett.

The _Manda’lor_ was sitting on the ramp to _Slave I,_ Nerac’s lightsaber in hand.

“She’s going to want that back, you know. To bury with him, if nothing else.”

“Then she can have it. Didn’t want any souvenir hunters pinching it while she was…occupied. That brother of yours is good for her.”

“Let us hope so. She’s an Apprentice without a Master, now. And it’s extremely unlikely the _Jeda’ii_ will accept her, considering just who it was that trained her. And what she’s done here today.”

“Extremely.” Fett leaned back against a support strut. “So, will it be you or Kenobi that finishes her training, then?”

“Oh, it’ll be Kenobi, no…doubt.” Too late he realized what Fett’s meaning had been. “How did you…”

“Realize the two of you were Force Trained? For one, you two move like a well-oiled machine. That sort of movement I’ve only ever seen from hardened veterans…and shall we was, _sensitive_ individuals. For another, if you didn’t want to go around advertising the fact, you probably shouldn’t have had the Bloodraven Clan emblem engraved on your _beskar.”_

Maul blinked. “…I’m sorry, the _what?”_

“The Bloodraven…Clan. Oh. You don’t know, do you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking. As far as I know, the only emblems Kenobi and I added to our _beskar_ were the ones for the _Ha’at Mando’ade._ It escapes me what other ones you might be referring to.”

“Your trimmings. The way they form wings across your chest-plates and arms. On a black background, no less. Bloodravens.”

Maul just stared in confusion.

“…Got your _beskar’gam_ from the Republic, did you?”

Things began to click into place in Maul’s mind. “Yes…we just painted our own colors over the trim lines that were already there…there wasn’t time for anything else…”

 _Sidious._ Sometimes, the man might as well have been the living embodiment of irony. Maul had heard of the Bloodravens in passing; but always in ancient, non-Republic texts. And not until well after he’d been abandoned by his former Master.

Fett snorted. “I’ll bet. Well, as it stands, there’s just one more reason that I’m still listening to either of you: and that’s that it’s pretty obvious wherever the pair of you got your training, it wasn’t with the Jedi. Attachment, the _beskar’gam_ in place of robes _,_ the fact that its impossible for either of you to have been the other’s Master plus the Jedi’s prohibition against taking multiple Apprentices at a time…add it all up, and I’m pretty confident in saying you not only grew up together, but did so with a _Mando_ for a _buir._ If Kenobi had a beard, I _might_ be able to see how he could’ve come from the Corellian Temple…but not you. Never you. And whatever you were, you’re Bloodravens, now: the Mandalorians’ answer to the _Jeda’ii_ and the _Sitha’ii_ back in the Old Republic.”

Maul couldn’t help it; he began to chuckle. Then he began to shake. And finally, he roared with laughter. “KENOBI…BEARD… _CORELLIAN!”_

It was just too funny. All of it.

“Glad to see I amused you.”

He gasped for breath. “Oh, you have no idea. _Vor entye, ner vod._ I needed that.”

Maul pulled himself back together, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Leaving out all that came before, the idea of a Mandalorian Clan specifically dedicated to fighting both the Jedi _and_ the Sith had a certain appeal…

“Bloodravens…” Maul ran the name over his tongue, and then again in _Mando’a. “Tal’senaar…_ ”

He liked it.

Fett stood, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “ _Tal’senaar, ner vod. Aliit.”_

He covered Fett’s glove with an iron grip of his own. “ _Aliit, ner vod._ You know…I wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

“If the ‘Republic’ knew what they were doing when they shoved three sets of _beskar_ into our lockers instead of just two. Maybe they were hoping Nerac would join as well.”

“Probably. Shame we won’t ever be able to ask him. Although that Apprentice of his seems just as capable of doing the job herself. And I have no doubt she’s going to want in on this little revenge scheme of ours, considering.”

Maul just grinned. “As you say, probably. Here; catch.”

A data-disc flashed through the air.

“What’s this?”

“Everything we pulled from the pirate’s command center. It seems as though Gardulla the Hutt had her own part to play in this whole affair. The slaves taken from Rattatak were sent directly to Mos Espa, on Tatooine. Gardulla’s base of operations. And there may or may not have been a few times when Clan Vizla was used as a go-between for the Hutt and the Federation.”

“…We’re going to Tatooine, aren’t we.”

“Probably, once the next job comes through. If we’re lucky, we might even catch _Kyr’tsad_ with their _beskar_ off.”

“Maul, I flown from one end of this galaxy to the other, and in that time, I learned that even if luck exists, you’re better off planning for it to screw you than the other way round.”

“A truly wise course of action. Come along; we’d best see what arrangements Ventress wants for her Master.”

“Ah, so that’s her name. _Ventress._ Interesting.”

“Indeed. But something tells me not half as interesting as her.”

“You got that right. Oh, one more thing: you didn’t by chance happen to check if any of the _hut’uune_ on your end of things just so happened to be wanted for anything, did you?”

“Of course. There were quite a few: why?”

“Oh, just wondering if we’ll have enough of a pot to…entice…a few people I know to help with Gardulla.”

“If not, let us know. Kenobi and I have more stashed away than the Republic knows about, and if you can end up recruiting them for…later, then we might just get a bonus out of it.”

“From the Republic? Are you kidding?”

“…Once again, you make a fair point, _Manda’lor.”_

“Maul, if I made any points other than fair ones, I wouldn’t last long as _Manda’lor,_ now would I?”

He chuckled. “No, no I don’t suppose you would.”

* * *

She was crying again.

Which should’ve been impossible considering just how many tears she’d already shed that day; she should’ve been well and truly dried out.

Her body, apparently, disagreed.

It was very nice, for a funeral. Not many people had said much of anything; but the ones that had, had known exactly all the right words. Or the wrong ones, depending on how you looked at things. When the time had come, she’d been terrified of dropping the torch in the dust before she managed to light the pyre.

But it was certainly ablaze now, no doubt about that.

So why couldn’t she seem to feel any heat from the flames?

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she sat. “ _There is no Death; There is the Force. There is no Death; There is the Force. There is no Death…”_

“I’m afraid that’s not going to help you much, my dear.”

She sniffled. “I know. But it’s all I have.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“No; no, it shouldn’t. But it is.”

And wasn’t that a bitch? The Jedi had never come for them; they’d not only been forgotten, they’d been _abandoned._ Kenobi and the others, Maul and Fett, hadn’t even been sent there for them. They’d been hired to deal with the Federation, not to rescue a Jedi Master. A bunch of mercenaries, who apparently had more honor than the entire Jedi Order. Which was downright ironic, considering said Order’s Code now sounded just as hollow as she felt.

Kenobi let out a sigh as he settled down onto the ground beside her. “You know, I wasn’t much older than you when I lost my own _buir._ It seems so long ago now…but I can still remember exactly how I felt. How you’re probably feeling right now. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s how useless that Code of yours is going to be in the days to come.”

“THEN GIVE ME SOMETHING ELSE, FORCE SHAAV’IT!”

She was quite sure her eyes were still glowing yellow with the Dark; but somehow, she just couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“…The _Jeda’ii_ used to have another Code, you know. It’s not quite perfect, but it’s still a fair bit better than what they have now.”

She hunkered down even further in sullen resignation. “Fine; let’s hear it.”

Kenobi cleared his throat. “ _Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.”_

“…Well that makes about as much sense as Vogon poetry.”

“Believe it or not, that’s exactly what I used to think. Until I realized it wasn’t the lines themselves that mattered; it was the message written between them.”

“And what’s that?”

“Balance, my dear. The Jedi and Sith both based their entire philosophy around a Rule of Two; a Master, and an Apprentice. Despite their own attempts to twist the Rules to their own purposes, at the end of the day, it still comes back to that one number: the Number Two. The Master can learn from the Apprentice, just as the Apprentice learns from the Master. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Iron sharpens iron; Chaos, yet harmony. And the ashes of the past become the ground from which the future sprouts. Death, yet the Force. Balance.”

“…You would’ve made a good Jedi, Kenobi.”

“Oh dear me, no. If there’s one thing I can say about myself, it’s that I have the tendency to get rather too attached to the people and things I care about. I would’ve made a terrible Jedi. And besides,” he held up his arm to let the armor glow in the firelight, “I think I look rather good in _beskar’gam.”_

She snorted. “Is that what it’s called, then? _Beskar’gam?_ What language is that?”

“ _Mando’a,_ my dear. The language of the Mandalorians. Translated, it means ‘iron skin’.”

“’Iron skin’. Ironic, considering you’re one of the softest people I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And what Code do _they_ follow, then? The Mandalorians?”

“…For the most part, something called the _Resol’nare._ The Six Tenets. Not much when you hear them, but somehow they’ve managed to produce the best warriors in the galaxy, Jedi included.”

“What are they?”

Kenobi took a deep breath. “ _Wear the armor, speak the language, serve the clan, follow the Manda’lor, defend the children, and raise them as Mandalorians.”_

“…Impressive. You did all that in one breath.”

“What’s really impressive is hearing it in the original _Mando’a._ Something I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never memorized.”

“Armor, language, clan, family, children, and the Mandalore.”

 _“Manda’lor._ Not Mandalore. Mandalore’s the planet; _Manda’lor’s_ the leader.”

“And who’s the leader?”

“Depends on who you ask. Some people say Duke Kryze; but he’s technically only _Jorada’lor_ at the moment. The Speaker for the people, is the best translation. And without the Darksaber, something that belongs to only the true _Manda’lor,_ that’s all he will stay.”

“You said that only _some_ people say he’s the leader; what about you? Who do _you_ say is the true _Manda’lor?”_

“I say…I say that the true _Manda’lor,_ the one who deserves the Darksaber more than any other…is the one currently teaching all those willing how to correctly aim and fire a blaster.”

 _“…Fett?_ How did _that_ happen? What’s he doing _here?_ Where’s the Darksaber?”

“That, my dear, is a story you’ll have to get from him. For now, I believe there’s a bottle of _tihaar_ with our names on it waiting on board the _Infiltrator.”_

“Asajj.”

“Asajj. It’s my name. You could call me by it.”

“…In that case, I insist you call me Obi-Wan.”

She paused, then nodded. “Obi-Wan. Very well. Lead the way, then.”

Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And his brother, Maul.

Two.

Balance.

She could practically feel the entire Force humming in satisfaction at the thought. Every part of it; the Living, and the Unifying. Even the Dark.

 _Especially_ the Dark.


	4. Cursed Missed Opportunites

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_Author’s Note: Because I’m a right proper di’kut, I neglected to include a Mandalorian (Mando’a) translation anywhere before now. So, for all those that pointed it out:_

_Di’kut: Moron_

_Hut’uun/Hut’uune: Coward/cowards_

_Kyr’tsad: Death Watch_

_Aliit: Clan_

_Aruetii: Outsiders_

_Aay’han: Balance_

_Jeda’ii/Jett’iise: Jedi_

_Sitha’ii: Sith_

_Buy’ce: Bucket/Helmet_

_Kriff: Fuck_

_Osik: Shit_

_Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: Today is a good day for someone else to die_

_Shaav’it: Damn it_

_Mando’ade: Mandalorians/ Children of Mandalore_

_Ha’at: True_

_Beskar: Mandalorian Iron_

_Beskar’gam: Iron Skin/ Traditional Mandalorian Armor_

_Vor entye: Thank you_

_Ner vod: My brother_

_Vode an: Brothers all_

_Oya: Let’s hunt_

_Tal’senaar: Bloodraven_

_Resol’nare: Six Tenets_

_Manda’lor: Leader of the People_

_Jorada’lor: Speaker of the People_

_Buir: Parent_

_Ade: Children_

_Dar’manda: Soulless_

_Kandosii: Classy_

_Udesii: Easy_

_I’m sure I’m probably forgetting some of them, and no doubt I’ll be forced to add more later. But for now, that’ll do._

_On with the show!_

* * *

4)CURSED MISSED OPPORTUNITES

As parades went, it wasn’t actually all that unbearable.

That is if you didn’t count just how awkward the standing arrangements were. Or, in his case, the seating arrangements.

Being the only person on the platform confined to a hoverchair really took the joy out of things.

Not that there wasn’t reason to celebrate. After all, not only had the Naboo and the Gungans managed to drive off a vastly superior enemy, both in numbers and in equipment, they had also come together in peace for the first time in Force knew how long.

And on the Jedi side of things, not only had the Dark Side user (the Sith, he wanted to say, but had been forbidden from doing so) been driven off, Anakin had proven his worth to the Council and been granted permission to be trained.

But why did such a terrible cost have to be paid for both?

Nowhere was that cost more apparent than in the space to his left. Where Obi-Wan, his _apprentice,_ should have been standing. Instead, it was occupied by the one man whom Qui-Gonn had done his very best to forget for the past eighteen years. 

His former Master, Yan Dooku.

Because of course it would end up being _him_ that trained the Chosen One.

He, Qui-Gonn, was the one that had found him; the one that had argued for his training; the one that had promised to train Anakin even if the Council forbade it. The Corellian Temple would have welcomed them with open arms; him, Anakin, and Obi-Wan all. They were meant to have been together; he was so sure of it.

But Obi-Wan…oh, Obi-Wan.

He had known from the beginning just how little his apprentice valued his own talents, if not his entire existence. The way of the Jedi was to be self-sacrificing, and everyone knew it. But no one had even known it like Obi-Wan. Melidaa/Daan had just been the final proof to Qui-Gonn that there was no part of himself Obi-Wan wouldn’t give if there was even a chance it could fix just one thing wrong with the galaxy. At the time, he had considered it to be the ultimate proof the Obi-Wan was destined to become a great Jedi Knight, and someday a Master.

He should have known better.

Xanatos, Bandomeer, Mandalore…the longer they were together, the harder it seemed the force worked to pull them apart. And now, It had finally succeeded.

And it had been done with the grandest possible sacrifice Obi-Wan could have made; his own fate, to save his Master’s. A Master who had failed him time and time again, from the very day he took Obi-Wan as his Padawan learner, to the greatest failure of all: his apparent discarding of his apprentice for the promise of a new one. He had intended to tell Obi-Wan after the battle about the Corellian Temple; how they would have been more than willing to see him Knighted for his service on Mandalore alone.

Too little, too late.

No one dared speak it, but they all knew it. To use the Force as Obi-Wan had done, to heal him as he had, was the very definition of attachment; of the Dark Side. That it had been done at the bequest of the Sith Apprentice (certainly not the Master) was all the proof the Jedi had needed that Obi-Wan had Fallen; driven to desperation by his Master’s seemingly fatal injury.

To Qui-Gonn, there was only one logical explanation for what followed. The “Dark-Sider” had sensed Obi-Wan’s Fall, and offered a trade: Qui-Gonn’s life, for Obi-Wan’s Apprenticeship. It was so blindingly obvious, Qui-Gonn failed to see how anyone could miss it. Yet miss it they did.

His old Master was the only one who would listen, who would even _consider_ the possibility that the Sith had returned. The official stance of the Council was that the “Dark-Sider” had, at the very last possible moment, realized the depths to which he had sunk, and begged Obi-Wan for help. And Obi-Wan, being Obi-Wan, had given it. At the moment, his apprentice was nothing more to the Jedi than an idealistic and somewhat naïve young man who was attempting to bring a Dark side user back to the Light, not realizing he himself had already strayed into the Gray. A Gray it would have been impossible for him to distinguish from Qui-Gonn’s own radical teachings.

Qui-Gonn had lost another apprentice.

Not just to the Dark, oh no. To his own hubris.

When a man is brought up being taught nothing but how much less he should value himself than anyone else in the universe, even the boy who it seemed was destined to replace him before his own moment of success, how will that man react when his teacher, the one who planned to replace him, is struck down in front of him, never again to teach either of his pupils?

Now he knew.

He could see his days stretching out before him; never again would he see the rough conditions and even rougher food of active-duty, not even with the wound to his stomach as healed as it was. He would stay on Coruscant, instructing the younglings, assisting Master Nu in the library, perhaps writing a treatise or two of his own. Maybe, with enough time, they might even see fit to grant him a Council seat. But he doubted it. And then would come the day when he became one with the Force, knowing that not only would there be very few to mourn his passing, but even fewer to greet him on the other side.

Boss Nass’ loud cry of **“PEEEEEEEEACE!”** seemed to reverberate throughout the Force; _peace,_ It echoed _._ Both to, and for, everyone. From the Chancellor himself, all the way down to the smallest (and snarkiest) astromech. From the Queen of Naboo’s lavish headdress, all the way down the galaxy’s newest Padawan braid.

Peace for all.

For all, that is, except Qui-Gonn.

* * *

“So…Corellian, huh?”

Fett snorted. “Figures that out of everything I told him, _that’s_ the thing that stuck.”

“Oh no, believe me, he passed on quite a lot of what you talked about that night. It’s just…Corellian? Really? Out of all the things that could have caused him to laugh in the past twenty years, _that’s_ what finally does it?” Kenobi sighed. “And the worst part is you don’t even know what makes the joke as funny as it is.”

“Then explain.”

“…Very well. The first thing you need to understand is this all took place in the middle of a civil war that we’d been hired to hamper. Both sides, from within, simultaneously. Communications at the time were virtually nonexistent. So, when the orders came from _my_ side that I was to fake my death, I wasn’t exactly able to explain things to Maul beforehand.”

He snorted. “Bet he was happy about that one.”

“Oh, he was furious. I was sure all Mandalore would tremble under his wrath. Naturally, An… _he_ went after the bounty hunter that had done it, fully intending to extract what he felt was his due justice. The funny thing was, it had all been a set up. The bounty hunter who done the job had been hired by my higher-ups, no surprise. But what both Maul and I failed to see coming was that I was then to take on the hunter’s identity to cement myself as a member of the side _Maul_ was on. Long story short, I ended up on Maul’s original side…and he ended up on mine.”

He blinked. “…Okay, as ironic as that whole _shabla_ story sounds, why’s it make the joke so funny?”

“Well, you see, at the time, I really did have a beard. Rather a nice one, too; took me a tremendously long time to grow. But I was forced to shave it, because the hunter whose identity I stole was completely bald. Oh, and Corellian.”

“…You mean to tell me, that you successfully posed as a Corellian, by _not_ having a beard?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“…Shaav. What is it with you Force-users? Is the entire universe out to make your entire existence the butt of some cosmic joke?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least, Fett. Not in the least.”

He reached over and smacked Kenobi’s boot before he could lean it up on the dashboard. “What have I told you? Just because you’re sitting in the copilot’s chair doesn’t mean you get to touch the buttons. _Especially_ on accident.”

Kenobi just hmphed and laid the offending leg across his other knee. “Need I remind you, _you_ were the one that insisted on one of us coming along on _Slave I_ while the other went with Ventress on the _Infiltrator.”_

“And need I remind _you,_ Maul was being just as uptight as I was about just who got to fly his ship. I wasn’t about to let Ventress aboard without one of you two around to deal with her, and three people just don’t fit comfortably on either of our preferred units of transportation. So, Ventress is with Maul, and you’re stuck with me. And believe me, I wish it were the other way round. At least Maul knew not to touch anything while we were ferrying passengers up to the _Lucrehulk.”_

“Hmmph. You’re one to complain about irony, considering you just managed to free an entire cargo of slaves in a ship literally named the _Slave I.”_

“Not irony. A statement.”

“Oh? How so?”

He leaned forward as yet another reply to his call flashed across the screen. “You’re thinking about it wrong. It’s not _Slave One,_ as in, The First Slave. It’s _Slave I,_ as in, The Slave Won. Wordplay.”

“…Oh. Of course. You got it afterwards, didn’t you?”

“During, actually. Traded for it.”

“Traded? How?”

“Pirates raided the transport I was on at the exact moment I broke free. I traded them the information I’d picked up in passing for a ship.”

“Must’ve been some information.”

All those long-forgotten chip deactivation codes flashed across his vision. So many slaves, so many numbers. And every single one of them worth it. “It was.”

“My point stands; for a band of pirates to attack the ship you’re on at the exact moment you mount your escape? Either the universe really does have a sense of the ironic, or the Force is more entwined with your fate than you think.”

“After Galidraan, Kenobi, I’m pretty sure it’s both. And neither. I’m just a simple man, trying to make my way in the universe. It’s not always up to me where that path leads.”

Kenobi sighed. “No. No it isn’t. But that’s no excuse not to try and make it go where you want it to.”

“I suppose not.”

They sat like that for some time, watching the stars streak by.

“…This friend of yours; the smuggler. Will he be there?”

Kenobi snorted. “Trust me, a few minutes after you meet him, you’ll be wishing he wasn’t. But he had his uses, and his finer points. They can just be a little…hard…to see at times.”

“Ah. One of _those_ then, is he?”

“Worse. So, so much worse. But he more than makes up for it in other ways. And believe me when I say he’ll come as surely as the rest of the _Mando’ade.”_

“He’d better. Because I’m not _kriffing_ riding all the way to Tatooine in this small a space with only you for company.”

“The feeling’s mutual, I assure you.”

Fett grumpily resumed his vigil over the comm-relay. Why, oh why couldn’t Maul have just let Kenobi fly the ship?

* * *

“He did _what?”_

Maul was dying. “HE DROPS…HIS ROBE…JUMPS DOWN…AND SAYS… _HELLO THERE!”_

Ventress disintegrated into peals of laughter.

This.

 _This_ was why Maul had wanted Kenobi off the ship. Because if Ventress were ever going to make it as Obi-Wan’s _anything_ , she first had to see him for what he was. Not just the philosophical warrior with a hand of steel and a heart of gold, but also the absolute dork with the survival instincts of a Gungan on glitterstim.

And if that involved relaying each and every ridiculous story about the man that he could remember, well, who was he to complain?

Ventress was still wheezing in the co-pilot’s chair. “He…actually… _said that?”_

He grinned. “Oh, yes. _And it gets worse.”_

“WORSE! How in the Force could it get _worse?”_

“Try this: _he let the other guy draw first on purpose.”_

And there she went again. If it were anyone but Ventress, he’d have thought they were suffering from an aneurysm, and as it was he was seriously considering checking her over for a broken rib, because there was no way that amount of noise should have been able to come from something so short.

Was this the girl Dooku had found when he first landed on Rattatak? Or had ten years under the rule of the Trade Federation’s shadowy hand wiped out any trace of joy that had remained after the death of her Master?

Either way, he was glad for the difference. Not least because he didn’t think he could’ve stood it if Ventress had started addressing Kenobi the way he was currently addressing her.

Even just from the short interaction they’d had in the old timeline, he’d been all too able to spot the obvious chemistry the pair had. It had been well-known to almost everyone that Kenobi and Ventress were just as likely to exchange banter as they were to exchange lightsaber thrusts, but when he’d finally gotten the chance to see the pair together, it had been from the viewpoint of mutual enemy. The difference had been _astounding._ Their synchronization had been flawless; their harmony, perfection. A far better fit than Kenobi and Skywalker had ever managed. Things would certainly be a bit awkward to start with, considering Kenobi would now be taking on the role of Ventress’ instructor. But he had no doubt that eventually, the two would find themselves getting along like a cruiser on fire.

Hopefully, stories like the one he’d just told would speed up the process. Even if it did mean Ventress would start calling Kenobi “darling” whenever he referred to her as “my dear”. Sickening. But worth it.

Ventress sucked in a deep breath, and leaned back in her chair. “Oh, I haven’t laughed like that in a long, long time. Thank you.”

“Of course. When it comes to Kenobi, it’s always best to keep one’s sense of humor sharpened. Otherwise you’ll find yourself driven mad by the recklessness he sometimes exhibits.”

“I’ll try and keep that in mind for the future.”

The future. Now _there_ was a container of gundarks neither he nor Kenobi _ever_ planned on opening. Not unless it became absolutely necessary. Too many unknowns. Even now, the changes they were making were twisting the future into some unrecognizable shape. If the two of them were surprised by an eventual divergence, they could handle it. But if someone else were to rely on their foreknowledge? Things might not end well, for anyone involved.

“What do they mean?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Ventress lazily gestured. “The symbols; on your armor. What do they mean? Or am I not allowed to ask, since I’m not, well, you know...”

He felt his eyebrow arch all on its own. “A Mandalorian?”

“Well, yeah.”

Curious, that she should ask. But not worth the trouble to question. “Rest assured, there is no meaning behind my armor hidden to _aruetii_ deliberately. Most outsiders just don’t ever think to ask. The black symbolizes justice, specifically its execution. The red is for _aay’han,_ the duality of existence. Chaos, and harmony. Joy, and sorrow. Death, and the Force.”

Ventress’ eyes lit up at that. “And the design?”

“According to Fett, the symbol for the Bloodraven Clan, or _Tal’senaar Aliit,_ If you prefer. The only known group of Force-Sensitive _Mando’ade_ to ever exist. Their version of the _Resol’nare_ had to be specifically modified, so that instead of swearing to the _Manda’lor_ alone, they instead swore to the spirits of all the ones that came before the current leader.”

Her nose crinkled in confusion. “Why?”

“Because those ancient _ade_ were well-acquainted with the fact that if a person was strong enough in the Force, they could continue on influencing the land of the living long after their death. Even after becoming one with the Force.”

He could see the hope begin to spark in her eyes; that there was a chance of her seeing her Master again in this lifetime. Best to let her down gently.

“The knowledge of the technique was, of course, lost quite a long time ago; several thousand years, if I were to make an estimate. Yet some still claim that if you look hard enough, or long enough, in certain corners of the galaxy, you can still find echoes of the past bleeding through.”

There; that had solved the problem before it ever flickered into existence. Very well done, if he did say so himself.

Ventress swallowed. “And Obi-Wan’s armor? What does the gold stand for?”

“Vengeance, I’m afraid. There remain quite a number of people in the universe who owe him a pound of flesh, and where justice will not serve, sometimes, one must settle for second best.”

“…Strange.”

“Oh, how so?”

“It’s just…Obi-Wan was the one explaining all that _aay’han_ stuff to me earlier…you’d think he’d be the one with red trim, instead of gold.”

“Kenobi is the very definition of a living contradiction, I’m afraid. No matter how hard he falls, no matter how spectacularly he fails, he will always continue on.” He sighed. “As you have perhaps guessed, I myself am far from being the perfect example of Balance, in any meaning of the word.”

“So why _aay’han,_ then?”

“Because where Kenobi is weak, I must be strong. Where he leads, I must follow. And where the Force guides us both, one must always be sure…and one must always question. In this, we have Balance. The two of us, working together, to form a greater whole. Forever, and always.”

And the ironic thing was, it was only half a lie.

“…Can I swear the Bloodraven version of the Resolnare?”

“ _Resol’nare.”_ He gently corrected. _“_ And why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s wrong to wear the armor without it, isn’t it? Otherwise it’s…well, it’s a lie.”

“And do you wish to wear the armor?”

“Yes? Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Hmm. When you know for sure, there’s a full set of _beskar’gam_ behind you. A bit large, but you and I can arrange for the necessary adjustments while Fett and Kenobi are dealing with the potential _Cuy’val Dar.”_

“I’m sorry, the what?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “It would take too long too explain. Try on the armor, and make notes on where the greatest changes need to be made. And on which color scheme and markings you would like. Wait to paint it until after we get it adjusted; the fires necessary to shape _beskar_ are some of the hottest in the galaxy.”

She nodded, and swiveled her chair around to stand up in the cramped corridor behind them.

“…Red.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think I’ll paint it red. With gold trim.” She shrugged. “Like you said, Balance. You can’t be with him all the time; and someone’s got to stick around to keep him out of trouble.”

“…You know, something tells me, you will prove more than up to the task.”

She beamed at the compliment.

Oh yes, he was _definitely_ glad for the difference.

* * *

“You got a lot of guts coming here.”

He clutched at his heart in mock offense. “As you can clearly see, your words have cut me to the quick. I’m hurt, I tell you, deeply hurt.”

Skirata was clearly rolling his eyes under his _buy’ce._ “That’s a load of _osik_ and you know it, Fett. I meant here, the _Oyu’baat._ Only people that ever use this place are _aruetii.”_

“Yes, well, shocking as it may be to you, we actually _have_ an _aruet_ coming. So as high as the odds are of somebody noticing something going on here, it’s still a better place to conduct business than that place down the street, which is just as liable to shoot _aruetii_ as it is to serve them.”

Skirata just sniffed. “And whose the new blood hiding behind you?”

Kenobi offered his arm in greeting. “Nothing new about me, I’m afraid. I’ve been wearing the _beskar_ since I was fourteen. _Olaram, ner vod._ Name’s Kenobi.”

Fett was impressed; Skirata was famous for his overbearing arm-grasps. Some people claimed they hadn’t been able to feel anything in their arm for a solid day after being on the receiving end of one. Yet Kenobi somehow managed to make it seem like just another normal handshake in terms of friendliness.

“Skirata. And you had better remember it.”

“Oh I will, Skirata; that’s all I plan to do for the rest of my life, go around remembering your name.”

“Hmph.” Skirata swiveled to face him. “Think’s he’s smart, don’t he?”

“ _He”,_ Fett leaned in, “just so happens to be the one responsible for this meeting in the first place. And while he may or may not think he’s smart, _I_ just so happen to _know_ it. So play nice.”

Skirata chuckled. “We’re Mandalorians, Fett. We don’t do nice.”

Kenobi pointed directly at Skirata. “This guy gets it.”

Skirata laughed at that. “Oh, I can already tell the rest are just gonna _love_ you.”

Fett looked unhappily from one back to the other. “Why am I getting a sudden sense of impending doom about this meeting?”

Kenobi’s response to that was to wrap an arm around his shoulder and guide him inside the _Oyu’baat._ “Because, my friend, when it comes to you, the universe is just incapable of being unironic.”

The shout could have been heard on Dathomir, that’s how loud it was. **_“FETTTTTTTTTTTT!_** My old friend! It is good to see each other again, no?”

…Aw, _kriff._

Beside him, Kenobi seemed to freeze to the spot. “…Fett; just when were you planning on telling me that you just so happened to know _Hondo Kriffing Ohnaka?”_

 _“I did.”_ He hissed. _“Remember? The pirates?”_

“PIRATE! HA HA HA! That is rich, coming from the man that swindled me out of my best ship! So, my old friend! What business have you with the great Hondo Ohnaka today!”

He could practically feel Kenobi’s glare burning into the side of his _buy’ce._ “ _Now_ who’s the butt of the universe’s joke, hmm?”

And as the man escorted him to Hondo’s table, he somehow couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with his assessment.


	5. In The Night, The Stormy Night

Disclaimer: Every cop may not, in fact, be a criminal.

* * *

5) IN THE NIGHT, THE STORMY NIGHT

“You know, you probably shouldn’t be holding that in plain view. Most Mandalorians take a dim view of those carrying lightsabers; unless you seem like the sort that took it instead of building one yourself.”

“I know.” Ventress sighed. “It’s just…I thought that it would feel, you know…different. Now. He trained me with this lightsaber; it wasn’t the best fit, but now…it’s like it’s forgotten me entirely.”

“Hmm.” Maul sank down into the chair beside her. “A natural response. You’ve Fallen, now; even if the blade had been perfectly suited to you before, it certainly wouldn’t be now. Not unless you were connected to it at the time of your change. And you weren’t. It’s high time you fashioned your own, anyway.”

“Probably. I just hoped…”

“That you could continue using your former Master’s?”

She gave a defeated nod.

“A not unheard of practice, even among the supposedly unattached _Jett’iise._ But for those who lack a suitable connection to the saber in whole, a popular alternative exists.”

“What is it?”

“Remove the crystal, and keep the hilt separate as the actual focus of remembrance. Then add the crystal to one’s own saber as a secondary power focus.”

She looked up in surprise. “You can do that?”

“Certainly; I believe the Master of the Jedi Order himself possesses a dual-crystal blade. One the original blue Kyber of hist first saber, and a red one taken from the weapon of a Fallen Jedi that he slew. His first kill, if I remember correctly.”

“That sounds…surprisingly Dark.”

“For a Jedi? You’d be surprised. Mace Windu was the first to take the Sith lightsaber form of _Juyo_ and twist it into one based on self-righteousness instead of anger; the infamous _Vapaad,_ the supposed ultimate counter to a Sith in combat _._ And yet, it remains almost impossible to perform by anyone lacking a bled Kyber crystal. Hypocrisy is more rampant among their Order than you might think. You former Master’s recognition of that fact might have had some small bearing upon his treatment.”

“And mine.”

“Yes.”

She pondered the revelations Maul had granted as they both watched her plates of _beskar_ shimmer and stretch under the blacksmith’s hammer.

It wasn’t long before the last sparks flew from the anvil and the reworked material was doused to harden it. If the smith had noticed the saber in Ventress’ hands, she made no comment on the subject. “Have you a clan sigil you wish engraved upon your pauldron, young one?”

“Yes…the same as his, if you please.”

The smith nodded in acknowledgement. “The _Ha’at Mando’ade._ A worthy cause to align yourself to; but not, perhaps, a true _aliit.”_

She gave a wistful smile as she stared down at the shiny new chest piece. “No; I have something else to add for that.”

The wings of a bird in flight, spread out over the breastplate.

The sigil of the _Tal’Senaar._

“As it should be. This is the way.”

Maul’s rumbling baritone answered in kind. “This is the way. How much in payment?”

“The remaining _beskar_ from the reforging shall suffice. It shall provide for a great many foundlings. This is the way.”

“This is the way. Tell the Tribe that _Kyr’tsad’_ s days are numbered. The _Manda’lor_ has come home.”

“It shall be done.”

Great; more inter-Mandalorian politics. As if Maul hadn’t drilled her enough on that subject during the trip. Oh, well. If she was going to swear the _Resol’nare,_ she supposed she better get used to it.

They made their way out of the dark alley and back onto the main street of Keldabe.

“You know, we don’t wish to make you feel like you have no choice.”

“Excuse me?”

“In this. _Mando’a,_ the _Resol’nare,_ the _Tal’senaar..._ any of it. Say the word, and we know of a few other ways for you to continue your training. The Corellian Temple would take you in no questions asked; or, if you prefer desert to jungle, the Guardians of Jedha. Both would be far better places to procure new Kyber crystals and lightsaber components as well.”

“But I don’t want _better._ I want _this.”_

She could practically feel Maul’s focus locked on her through his helmet’s visor. “Are you sure? Once you start down this path, forever will it dominate your destiny. And it is far from the easiest road.”

“No; no it isn’t. But than again, is anything worth it ever easy?”

“Never.”

She grinned. “Then it’s worth it. This is the way.”

“…This is the way. And put your _buy’ce_ on; Dathomirians stand out on any planet, even on…”

Maul trailed off.

She froze halfway through donning her helmet. “What is it? I can’t sense anything.”

“It’s not what I’m sensing, Ventress; it’s what I’m _seeing.”_ He hissed.

It took her a moment to locate the source of his discomfort. “Who, the girl?”

“Not just a girl. The youngest daughter of the _Jorada’lor._ Who should really be in Sundari right about now. And if I’m right, there’s only one reason a New Mandalorian royal would be ever be found in Keldabe; much less wearing blue and gray _beskar._ ”

He unfroze. “Get to the ship. When Kenobi gets back, tell him I’m following Bo-Katan back to wherever she’s heading.”

“No, I’m coming with you!”

“You _can’t._ The only weapon you have right now is your _kad,_ and we can’t afford to leave any decapitated bodies behind. And the prey I’m hunting would see you dead for that symbol on your pauldrons alone.

“And the same goes for you!”

Maul growled. “Ventress, I won’t say it again: _Get. To. The. Ship._ Only Kenobi or Fett can help here, and we absolutely _cannot_ interrupt them right now. Finish painting your _beskar,_ find a blaster that suits you, and if you get done before either return, _then_ and _only_ then can you come for me.”

Whatever protest she might have uttered died on her tongue. Force, but that visor was intimidating. “…Fine.”

She turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Please change your mind, please change your mind…

He clapped her on the shoulder. “ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'vod._ Repeat it back to me.”

She swallowed. “… _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'vod._ Now what?”

“Now? There’s usually a bottle of _tihaar_ passed around. It’s not everyday you get adopted as a sister, after all.”

Her voice spiked an octave. _“Sister?”_

“Of course. If I die, I certainly don’t want the _Infiltrator_ going to _Kenobi_. Now _go.”_

She went. And wondered just what in the hell she’d gotten into.

* * *

“So let me get this straight.” Skirata leaned in. “You have proof, that not only has the Trade Federation been funding _Kyr’tsad_ since _Galidraan,_ but that they’ve been in cahoots with a kriffing _slaver ring_ as well? And that this slaver ring’s biggest buyer just so happens to be the one and only _Gardulla the Hutt?”_

He nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Kriff, Fett. Your friend here was right; seems the universe has it out for you after all.”

Kenobi moved to mirror Skirata’s pose. “Ah, but you see, that’s where people like you, me, and the good captain here come in.”

“But of course!” Hondo spread his arms apart in amusement. “The thing you have to remember about Hutts, is that they never make any friends! And what are we all if not exactly that!”

Walon Vau snorted. “Friends can get you killed in this line of work.”

“Well; allies, then.” Hondo waved. “And the very best kind of allies, too! The ones that will all get something different out of a job; so there will be nothing to fight about afterwards!”

Rav Bralor raised her mug. “I’ll drink to that.”

Mij Gilamar merely grunted and brought his own drink up to clink against the female _Mando’_ s.

What a motley group they were. Skirata, a hardened veteran and war orphan who’d never known another kind of life. Vau, a cold merciless, bastard who had been disowned by his own (well-propertied) father when he’d refused to join his home planet’s navy. Bralor, a mother of three who had only outlived her husband because she’d been home pregnant when Galidraan had happened. Gilamar, a former peace-loving doctor who’d taken a sudden interest in un-anesthetized field surgery after his wife and children had been murdered. Hondo Ohnaka, who’d been sold into slavery by his own _mother._ And finally, Kenobi and himself, both of whom had watched their only father-figures murdered right in front of them.

Hopefully, this crew had just enough rage left in their systems to actually act on it.

“Like the man said, we all get something different out of this job. Satisfaction, credits, revenge, whatever you will. Or whatever you can take. Now, I can understand if some of you want nothing to do with this. It’s not exactly gonna be a _ujaa_ walk; and there’s a very high chance it could all go sideways and leave us high and dry.”

“Actually, it would be low and wet. I’m told Gardulla keeps a Rancor directly below her throne room that serves as a…disposal for her unwanted guests.”

“Not helping, Kenobi.”

“Not intending to. Just trying to help prove your point about the potential risks.”

“And _vor entye_ for that. But Kenobi’s right; we might all very well end up cashing in our chips on this mission. But no matter what the rest of you decide, I’m going. _Kyr’tsad_ needs to end. And for that to happen, Gardulla has to die. So; who’s in?”

Bralor looked down into her tankard, sighed, and drained the last of her _tihaar._ “Kriff it; I’m in. My boys could use the credits, even if I snuff it.”

Skirata reached up to scratch his chin. “Well…come to think of it, I got two boys of my own that need looking out for. Even if my ex ain’t too keen on me being the one to do it. And besides…you’re the _Manda’lor,_ Jango. It’s the way.”

Vau nodded. “And if we haven’t got the way, what _have_ we got? Might as well sell our _beskar_ and move to Sundari.”

He twisted to face the other half of the table. “What about you, Mij?”

“I go where I’m needed, Jango.” The doctor emptied his own glass of ale, and then slammed it down on the table. “And something tells me those slaves aren’t about to dig out their detonator chips all on their own.”

“Well spoken, my friend!” Hondo clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you would see our point of view!”

“Ohnaka, if you don’t take your arm off me right this second, I’m going to slice it off and surgically reattach it to your _shebs.”_

“Oh what a fantastic threat, my good friend!” The Weequay pirate began clapping. “I shall have to remember that one!”

“So, we’re all in agreement, then?” Kenobi looked around. “Kill Gardulla, free the slaves, take anything that’s not nailed down, and if anyone tries to stop us…”

He finished the sentence. “We feed their corpses to a Sarlaac.”

Skirata snorted. “And where the kriff you gonna get one of those on such short notice?”

“The Great Pit of Karkoon.” Kenobi grinned. “A nice, big, thousand-year old one. And really quite conveniently close to Mos Espa, in fact. I’m told it takes _centuries_ for its victims to be fully digested.”

“…Jango?”

“Yeah, Rav?”

“Remind me never to piss off your friend here.”

“Will do. Right; here’s the plan. Kenobi here has a contact in the city who used to be owned by Gardulla. Probably one of the Hutt’s favorites, judging by her history. Now, she can probably get us into the fortress, but when it comes to the security measures, that’s going to be another matter entirely. So, here’s what we’re going to do…”

* * *

“Hmm. Advanced Mechanics, passing. Political Science, passing. Economics, passing. Basic Katas, passing. You are doing remarkably well for yourself in most of the more complex classes, Padawan.”

“Thank you, Master Dooku.”

“I have, however, noticed, that your grade in Cultural Understandings has taken a slight downward turn. Might I inquire as to the reason?”

He bent his head and shuffled his feet. “ _M’teacherdin’tlikem’esay.”_

“Padawan, If you wish to communicate solely by mumbling from now on, might I recommend you begin studying Shyriiwook in your spare time. Now, in plain Basic, repeat what you just said.”

He took a deep breath. “My teacher didn’t like my essay.”

Master Dooku merely raised a single eyebrow. “Indeed? Was it because of your less than stellar grasp of Aurebesh that you were graded lower than your normal performance?”

“No, Master. It was what I said _in_ the essay.”

“Then enlighten me, Padawan. What was the subject of this particularly troublesome paper?”

“The Battle of Galidraan, Master.”

Every ounce of blood seemed to drain from Master Dooku’s face. “…I see. Am I correct in assuming that you voiced several opinions that went directly against the official Jedi accounting of the… _incident?”_

He’d really done it now. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, but it will, my young Padawan.”

A pang of regret spiked through his heart; he’d known he wasn’t good enough, and now…

“It will happen again because that paper was assigned deliberately; and more like it are sure to follow. I can see now that your instructor for Cultural Understandings holds not only a grudge against you, but against me as well.”

“Master?”

“Tell me, Padawan, while composing your… _essay…_ did you perchance come across the name ‘Vosa’?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the teacher really went on and on about her. Her and some guy named Fett. And what happened to them both after the Battle.”

“As expected. The reason your instructor did so, Anakin, was because ‘Vosa’ was, at the time, my Apprentice.”

Wait, _what?_

“And what she witnessed on Galidraan that day was most certainly _not_ the official version of events. It drove her to the Dark; and, to a lesser extent, I as well. It seems there remain some here at the Temple who still object to my opinions on the matter. Tell me, did your _teacher,”_ he practically spat the word, “order you not to bring this matter to my attention?”

“Uh-huh. He said we weren’t allowed to go to any Masters for help, and that we were only allowed to use the records in the Archives for research.”

“Thereby insuring that an entire class of Padawan learners gained knowledge of a potential weak point to be used against the pair of us. Very well done, by both sides; if you had been a bit further in your Political studies, you _might_ have been able to see the trap for what it was. But know this, Anakin: it pleases me to know that even while under fire, you stuck to the truth as you knew it.”

Something warm seemed to flow through his entire body at that.

“There are many who would like nothing better than to see you reassigned to another Master; and in my opinion, the only other suitable candidate would be my currently out-of-operation former Apprentice. That you were able to stand your ground against them all on your own will make them reconsider any further plans to separate us. However, I do wish you had come to me with an explanation for your grade sooner. The minute that paper was submitted you would have been free to come to me for help. Why didn’t you?”

How could he explain it? How could he possibly, when all Master Dooku had ever known was the Temple, and all _he’d_ ever known was…

“A different kind of Master. My apologies, Anakin. It had completely slipped my mind. Forgive my inattention.”

Holy kriff, did Master Dooku just _read his mind?_

“Not precisely, my young Padawan. It is merely an extension of the Force-bond between us that we share as Master and Apprentice. I have had more than enough practice from this side of the experience, whereas this is your first time. Soon we shall move on to the art of not only mental communication, but shielding against any others attempting to… _influence_ you. But for now, I believe you have an assignment due on the poetry of a planet of your choice. Perhaps you might be able to bring your Cultural grade up with the results.”

He groaned. “But its _poetry!_ All flowers and oceans and rivers and things!”

“Not all of it, my young Padawan, although I must confess it does sometimes seem that way. If I might make a suggestion…”

“Oh kriff _yes.”_

“Language, Anakin. And perhaps, if one were to take into consideration the _opinions_ of your instructor, you might consider answering them in your own manner. I understand that the Mandalorians have a battle chant they are particularly find of; the _Dha Werda Verda._ And as far as I know, there is not a flower or ocean to be found within it.”

A battle chant…yeah…yeah, that could work!

Master Dooku must’ve overheard him thinking again, because he directed one of his rare smiles in Anakin’s direction. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my young Apprentice. I believe the Archives should be your first destination at the moment. And _mine…”_ he rumbled, “Will be the office of a very specific Jedi Master.”

As the door to their quarters slid shut behind Master Dooku, Anakin could’ve sworn that this time it was _him_ doing the mind-reading. _“It really has been too long since I visited the salles…far too long indeed…”_

He should probably have felt bad for the poor Master that was now the focus of Master Dooku’s ire.

But he didn’t.

* * *

He finished keying in the codes and hit ‘ACTIVATE’. Two probe droids from the _Infiltrator_ were now locked to his location and vital signs, both being relayed from his _buy’ce._ They would follow him no matter where he ended up, provided he stayed on planet of course. If he was forced to track Bo-Katan off-world (unlikely), or if he was wounded in the inevitable exchange to come (much more likely), then the last probe droid back on the ship would alert Ventress and then head for Kenobi. All-important meeting or not, sometimes unexpected circumstances took precedence.

The younger Kryze sister was obviously new to this; a fighter she may have been, but an experienced one, far less so. Her attempts to monitor for tails were few and far between, and even then it was so blindingly obvious what they were that he was forced to ask just how incompetent local law enforcement were that they would fail to notice.

Then he remembered just where he currently was and the question became moot. Law enforcement? On Mandalore? Perish the thought.

It was ridiculously simple to follow the girl through the streets of Keldabe; even among it’s widely varied denizens, the color combination of blue and gray was rare indeed. Especially on _beskar._ In the end, she led him directly to an abandoned warehouse on the southern side of the city; not far from the _Oyu’baat,_ in fact.

As he followed Bo-Katan into the dim entryway she’d vanished through, he began tapping out alternate orders for the droids. In the event of an emergency, one of the ones locked to him would now go directly to Kenobi, and the one back on the ship would lead Ventress here. The distances involved became drastically shorter, and so too did the potential response time. Good. He didn’t want any _stragglers_ left alive to inform _Kyr’tsad_ of their _vode_ fates.

He sent a silent ‘ _vor entye’_ to Kenobi for painting his armor, not that he’d ever admit it; black really _was_ the best. Especially when it came to hiding in the shadows. He tucked himself into a particularly dark corner, and amped up his _buy’ce’_ s detection systems. Normally, in a crowded street, higher settings would produce information overload, for both him and his systems. But here, in a nice, quiet, part of town (for now anyway), they worked wonders. Heat detection to identify targets, and enhanced listening to…

_“…the time will be soon. MandalMotors have made their position clear…”_

…Eavesdrop with.

 _“But what about the fallout?”_ Bo-Katan’s voice. _“MandalMotors is the biggest remaining Traditionalist manufacturer; if we go through with this, won’t we be shooting ourselves in the shebs?”_

Classic Bo-Katan. Always thinking ahead.

_“Need I remind you, they are the ones that have shot first!”_

His eyes widened. He knew that voice…

_“MandalMotors has, by their very acts of neutrality, openly declared for the enemy! They can claim ‘Traditionalism’ all they like, but we know the truth! That by their apathy, they have condoned the erasure of our culture; of our way of life!”_

Saxon.

Because of kriffing _course_ his one-time second-in-command would be nothing more than a starry-eyed idealist right about now.

_“Carim Vale must die for his treason! And once he is removed, the new president of MandalMotors will be more than willing to make his position perfectly clear to the vode.”_

And that was all the excuse he needed.

“A new president, you say?” He drawled as he rounded the corner. “Hmm. First I’ve heard of it. And I tend to be very good at listening.”

As expected; thirteen blasters, all pointed directly at him. All except Saxon’s; he’d always been the smart one when it came to dealing with unknowns. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Who I am, is no one of consequence. What I want, is to see Mandalore restored to what it once was.”

Saxon’s face brightened at that. “Then you are one of us! Come to join our crusade against the treachery of the _New Mandalorians!”_

The man, no, young boy practically spat the words.

“I’m afraid you misunderstand me.” He chuckled. “What I meant was, in fact, not so much Mandalore’s restoration, as _Kyr’tsad’_ s extinction. Because, ironically enough, from my point of view, _you_ are the ones currently committing treason.”

“ _Traitor.”_ Saxon hissed.

“So you claim; and yet, of the pair of us, which is the one who has broken his oath to the _Manda’lor?_ And which is the one with the sigil of the _Ha’at_ on his _beskar?”_

Saxon let out a boisterous laugh. “Why, haven’t you heard? According to our precious _Duke,_ we no longer _have_ a _Manda’lor._ And even if Fett were brave enough to show his face around here, I doubt he could find a single _Ha’at Mando’ade_ left to answer his call. Well, all except _you.”_

“Hmm. Odd. Because last I heard, Fett is sitting in the _Oyu’baat_ at this very moment, surrounded by quite a few still loyal to him. Quite a few indeed. And as I said before, I am _very good_ at listening. I offer you this once chance: leave now, and never return to _Kyr’tsad_ ’s ranks. If you wish to see the glory of Mandalore returned, you will find the _Manda’lor_ and swear the _Resol’nare_ to him once again. If you do not…then the next time we meet shall be the last.”

Saxon finally drew his blaster. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer it if _this_ was the last time we meet. We will succeed in our goals; and when we do, there will remain no one to remember the _Ha’at Mando’ade._ No one of consequence, you said? I believe it. I doubt you even have a proper _Mando_ name, you _dar’manda aruet.”_

“Oh, but I do. I am Maul, of the _Tal’senaar Aliit._ But for today…” He cracked his knuckles and loosened his shoulders, “I am something else entirely. You have Watched Death long enough, _ner vod._ Now, it is time for you to meet it. Today…I am _KYR.”_

And so he became Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.

He was Maul.

And there would be only one survivor.

After all, dead men (and women), tell no tales.


	6. It Was A Wicked And Wild Wind

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_Author’s Note: Now that I actually have sort of, half-of, okay maybe more like twelve percent of, a plan when it comes to this fic, thought I ought to give a few shoutouts to my main sources of inspiration. First off, the fics “ For The Right Price” and “Raising the Stakes” by ShaeTiann on AO3. Absolute best Mandalorian Obi-Wan series in existence, even if it does take a while to get there. Secondly, “Ib’tuur Jatne Tuur Ash’ad Kyr’amur” by ziggyzigzagged, also on AO3. Second best use of time travel in Star Wars I’ve ever seen, and what gave me the idea to avoid using Obi-Wan’s POV altogether. Thirdly, "Certain Point" by esama, once again on AO3. Separatist Obi-Wan is one of my absolute favorite things to read, right up there with Separatist Padme. And good Asajj/Obi-Wan interactions? I am here for it. And finally, “A Sith’s Second Chance” by VFSNAKE, on Fanfiction.net. First Darth Vader time travel fic I ever read, and the one that convinced me we needed more of the same from other Sith. Especially one Zabrak in particular. _

_That being said, while this little foray of mine will probably bear no small resemblance to the stories mentioned above, I will be bringing in other characters from the Star Wars Universe besides the ones used by the authors in question. Mostly because I love far too many eras and canons to be able to keep everything nice and divided (especially in a time travel story), and partly because it’s a damn shame we never got to see certain people interact in any Star Wars media (cough, cough, Cad Bane and Jango Fett). You’ll see what I mean eventually. Maybe. If we ever get there._

_Oh, one last thing. Thank you so much to Kat and Plum over on Fanfiction.net, whose (sadly unfinished) story “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” is what convinced me to try writing fanfiction in the first place; and especially the Star Wars variety. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_. _Ret'urcye mhi, vode._

_Oya!_

* * *

6) IT WAS A WICKED AND WILD WIND

She was dead, she was dead, she was dead…

“You know, it has often been said if you state something often enough and loudly enough, it eventually becomes true. Taking that utterance into consideration, perhaps it would be to your benefit if you would cease declaring yourself one with the _Manda?”_

Had she been saying that out loud? Oh _Manda,_ she was going to die down here…

“Not unless you work yourself into an aneurysm with your worry. If I were you, I would be much more concerned with what comes after.”

“And…and what…is…after?”, she hiccupped in-between sobs.

“Judgement. But not from me. I rather think your sister and father will be quite perturbed by what happened here today…and the part you played in it.”

A whimper escaped her throat as all of her father’s possible reactions played out in her mind.

“And it is for their sakes, and their sakes alone, that I do not cast you into darkness like the rest of these _chaakare._ Your family’s hypocrisy is evident; even to you, I think. But your sister’s peace of mind should take precedence over any injustice you may perceive. Ironic, isn’t it? That a supposedly _dar’Manda aruetii_ like me would value a Kalevalan royal’s well-being more than her own _vod.”_

“Wha…what do you…want?”

“The same thing the _Manda’lor_ wants; at least for now. The _Ha’at Mando’ade_ are going to war again, my dear. And we intend to finish _Kyr’tsad_ for good. You and your _aliit_ can either stand aside, or be swept along by the storm.”

“They…won’t…listen.”

“Oh, my dear.” The demon in _beskar_ bent down and cupped her chin. “ _I’m counting on it._ Your sister and my _vod_ have…unfinished business. And I would so hate for him to get… _distracted…_ at a more critical juncture in our plans. The only reason he isn’t here with me right now is that he and the _Manda’lor_ have more… _pressing_ matters to attend to. Rest assured, Bo-Katan Kryze, you will see me again. And whatever cracks you have made in the walls of their resolve…”

His whisper cut like a knifing wind. “ _I shall use them to shatter it completely.”_

He drew himself up to his full height once more, sinister red visor glinting in the dimness. “Now go. There is work to be done here; and none of it meant for the eyes of a Lady.”

There was something challenging in the demon’s tone; she rose to meet it. “I…am no… _Lady.”_ , she hissed.

“Indeed. But nonetheless, you should leave. These _chaakare_ doubtless had friends, and I would so hate to see you dead by _Kyr’tsad’s_ hands after all the lengths I’ve gone to spare you. Oh, and one more thing…”

She paused in her stumbling path to the door.

“I have already given you my name. But there is little harm you could do with that information; there are none in your House that would recognize it should you pass it on. But if you have need of _ammunition_ to use against your sister, another crack to add to her walls…you would do well to remember the name of the only man your sister ever compromised for. My _vod…_ Kenobi. And the name of the man he now answers to. _Ret'urcye mhi,_ Bo-Katan.”

“ _Ret'urcye mhi.”_ She rasped through dry lips. And then stumbled out once more into the light, leaving the demon behind in the hell he had created.

* * *

He gave a somewhat over-exaggerated bow as the Jedi Master made his way out of the office. Entirely for his own benefit, of course. It wouldn’t do for Jinn to see the smile that had been attempting to make itself known ever since the Jedi’s reaction to what was (to him) truly terrible news. That the Trade Federation should have received nothing more than a slap on the wrist for all that they’d done…it was just one more thing to add to the veritable mountain of rage and guilt the man was stumbling along under.

To think, he’d become so singularly focused on the Master, that he had completely missed the obvious within the Apprentice.

In more than one respect.

So many years spent playing the pawn for Plagueis, when he ought to have been more attentive to the treachery brewing in Maul’s mind. So long spent preparing Xanatos for the role he had envisioned, only for that Chun brat to rise up and wreak havoc on so many of the Siths’ plans. So many wasted gifts and gestures, all specifically meant to entice Dooku, when all along it was _Jinn_ that had come the closest to falling. True, he had returned from the edge that his lover’s death had provided (once again because of the Apprentice), but close was still close. And whereas Dooku had handled Vosa’s Fall with remarkable aplomb, shuttering himself within the icy cold of indifference, Jinn was all but throwing himself into the Dark trying to fix things.

An impossible goal, to be sure. Once the Dark had you, it never truly let you go. Even the foolish Jedi recognized that, albeit in their own twisted way. If Maul had indeed Turned Kenobi by now, there was no saving him in the eyes of the Jedi.

 _Any_ Jedi.

Oh, it would be such _fun_ to set Master against Apprentice. He’d done it before, to be sure; only _this_ time, he planned for the Master to win. Kenobi’s death would push Jinn straight to that edge once more, and then careening over into the embrace of the Dark waiting below.

Perhaps he could arrange for Jinn to have his revenge on Maul as well…it was a thought. But given the choice between which one to let die and which one to spare, he would choose Maul to keep alive any day. The Zabrak had proved to be more than just the mindless beast Palpatine had supposed…and that alone spoke to truly Sith levels of deception. Perchance a worthy successor to the line of Bane after all. If the chance came, and Kenobi rose up against his new Master in the true way of the Sith, then Palpatine knew exactly which side to back.

He had hoped to work on young Kenobi after Jinn’s death, but now the roles would be reversed. And perhaps for the better, considering just who had ended up young Skywalker’s Master. Resentment was such an easy thing to foster in another’s mind, after all. And Dooku stealing what Jinn had felt to be _his_ find was just the latest layer added to the built up layers of loathing for his former Master in his mind.

Already potential names for his up-and-coming Apprentice began to swirl through his mind.

Venjus was a possibility…or perhaps Tyranus…yes, Tyranus had merit…

And while it would take time to fine Kenobi and Maul both, there were other options a little nearer to home that just might push the errant Jedi just that much closer to his ultimate fate. Caliiga was the closest thing he had to a true Apprentice, now…or perhaps the time had come to recruit that pet of hers, Sing…even Vosa herself held use, especially in the area of psychological warfare…

So many different ways to go…

But in the end, only one path forward.

* * *

Her hands were shaking.

Good thing she was done painting then, wasn’t it?

Okay, so the joke was terrible. And the painting had at least given her _something_ to occupy herself with. Now she was just waiting.

And she hated waiting.

Once again she picked up the Blastech DL-44 that lay in front of her. She’d already dismantled and reassembled the thing at least a dozen times, each time getting just the slightest bit faster as she went along. It wasn’t her first choice for a weapon, but it was the only one Maul had on board that even remotely resembled anything she’d ever used on Rattatak. And as such, the only one she trusted herself with in a firefight.

Oh dear Force, please not that…

She sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a sigh, and continued stripping parts. Best to continue along her original train of thought. Where was she again? Oh yeah, Rattatak. Not a lot of options when it came to arming yourself. Then again, that was the nice thing about Blastechs. No matter what Maw of the galaxy you might ever find yourself in, at least one thing would remain constant: if you happened across a blaster, chances were that on the inside, it would look at least _something_ like a DL. The company had been around since the _Ruusaan Reformation,_ for Force’ sake. Three thousand years was a lot of time to corner the market on efficient design. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

She looked down…and swore as she realized she’d somehow managed to reverse the entire emitter array.

“Asajj? Something wrong?”

Obi-Wan was back.

“Dear, if you need me to, I can come back at a later WHOAH!”

She practically flung herself into his arms and began sobbing. _“I’msorryI’msosorrybuttherewasagirlandthenhefollowedherandhewouldn’t let me come with himandthenhetoldmetocomebackandwaitforyouandnowIdon’tknowwhereheisorhowtofindhim…”_

“Asajj.”

_“Andnowhecouldbedeadorhurtandit’sallmyfaultbecasueIcouldn’tsavehimIcouldn’tsaveanyofthemI’llneverbeabletosavethem…”_

_“Asajj!_ It’s _okay._ Maul sent a probe droid to let me know what happened, and to tell me he was _fine._ I’m happy to report that the only injuries _or_ casualties were entirely on the other side.”

She sniffed. “You’re…you’re sure?”

“Well, Fett may or may not have broken a table leg when I sent Maul’s message to his _buy’ce._ But other than that poor unfortunate piece of furniture that was just trying to do its job, everything is just fine.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. And then hiccupped.

Obi-Wan just pulled her closer. “You did exactly what you were supposed to, darling. It’s not your destiny to save _everyone;_ least of all that sometimes psychotic _vod_ of yours.”

“…He told you about that?”

“Of course. If there’s anything the pair of us have learned over the years, it’s that secrets inevitably end up doing more harm than good. And I’m sure his decision to pass along that particular piece of information had absolutely nothing to do with how much he emphasized just exactly who gets his stuff if and when he finally does end up kicking the _buy’ce.”_

She snorted. “I’ll bet.”

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to just lean into him. It was…nice. She wasn’t really the most touchy of people, and Master Ky had always tended to keep his distance. And everyone else had sooner or later ended up dead.

Oh look, she was crying again.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, _As’ika;_ I’m here.” He ran a hand gently through her hair. “Everything’s going to be _fine._ Now, as much as I enjoy being used as a personal flotation device, I’m quite sure that _beskar_ in your face can’t be comfortable.”

She sniffled. “Had experience with that, then?”

Obi-Wan just smiled. “More times than I can count. In news that is more than likely to cheer you up, despite Fett’s apparent grudge against interior décor…they all said yes. Even Hondo.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The pirate you told me about?”

He just shrugged. “He’s not so bad; once you get to know him. And you’re definitely going to have time for that, considering you and I are hitching a ride on his ship.”

“…You’re serious.”

“I’m afraid so. Only so many of us have ships, and both _Slave I_ and the _Infiltrator_ can only hold two at a time comfortably. And believe me when I say Mandalorians take up a _lot_ of space. And to keep as much of that space clean as possible, I’m afraid you’re going to have to put that dismal looking blaster back together and pack your things. It’s going to be a long journey, and I don’t think Hondo plans on starting late. We have until Maul gets back to grab what we need; then we’re off.”

Slowly, she slid out of the embrace, and made her way back to the one small pull-out table on board that she’d managed to scrounge. It was relatively simple to reverse the parts she’d accidentally installed backwards (relative being the operative word, how the Force did she manage it in the first place?); and once that was done, she slid the blaster home in her holster, rechecked to make sure Master Ky’s saber was secure…and then slid her brand new _buy’ce_ on for the very first time.

“Wow.”

She swiveled. “What’s ‘wow’?”

“It’s just…” He scratched his head. “Kind of odd, seeing you in full _beskar_ for the first time. Red and gold, no less; I assume Maul told you what they meant?”

She nodded.

“Force, it looks intimidating when you do that. Good choice with the colors; definitely… _well-balanced.”_

She had a feeling there was an underlying meaning to that sentence; but if there was, she couldn’t find it.

She opted instead to change the subject. “So; Hondo. How’d you make friends with a pirate anyway?”

“Well, the first time _I_ met him, he kidnapped me and held me for ransom, and the first time _Maul_ met him…let’s just say Hondo upstaged him. Rather badly.”

“How badly is ‘badly’?”

He returned to find the pair of them rolling on the floor dying of laughter.

Well, as much as you could roll on board a ship like this anyway.

“When you’re all quite ready.”

For some reason, that just seemed to set them off even harder.

Maul sighed. He just knew that whatever it was that had first started this debacle, it would inevitably come back to haunt him in the future. Why, oh, why couldn’t he have been sent back with literally anyone else?

Dume would have been good at this; Force, he’d even have taken _Tano._

But no, the Force in It’s infinite wisdom had decreed that it was to be Kenobi; and so Kenobi it was.

He just hoped the Force wouldn’t come to regret it.

* * *

Under his _buy;ce,_ Dred Priest retched.

The smell…oh _Manda,_ the _smell…_

One never got used to the aroma that only charred human flash could produce. Whoever had done this, they’d been thorough. And motivated.

They’d been absolutely and brutally efficient in their work, whoever the hell they’d been. The stray blaster bolts seared into the walls numbered exceptionally low for a fight of this size; and the amount of blood exceptionally high. So, whoever they were, they’d used blades. Probably _beskads_ and _bes’bevs;_ the former’s presence indicated by the many severed heads, and the latter’s by the size of the dents in the Durasteel armor of the new recruits. Jetpacks as well; only so many of these bodies had been set alight _after_ being stripped and stacked into a pyre.

As if that wasn’t enough, certain pieces were missing from the _gam_ that was left. A shin piece here, a chest plate there…more than likely the only true _beskar_ each recruit had owned. The iron wasn’t cheap, after all; more than what most members of _Kyr’tsad_ got paid in a year. And recruits were far from being ‘most members’.

But it was the pauldrons that clenched it. Each and every one, emblazoned with the jagged _W_ of the Death Watch, had been ruthlessly flipped upside down, and then _pounded_ into the wall behind the pyre. Each and every one fit perfectly into place to create the exact image of their reversed sigil: a flattened _M,_ almost like a simplistic bird in flight.

The message was obvious: down with Death Watch. But there was something else here, some hidden meaning that he could not begin to decipher. He would have to hope someone else higher up would be able to do it for him, before Vizsla caught wind and wanted a report.

Oh, _Manda…_ Fett comes to town, and on the very same day, an entire group of new recruits is mercilessly massacred? Coincidence, he thought not.

Maybe he should’ve stuck with the _Ha’at Mando’ade_ after Galidraan after all…especially considering their apparent ruthlessness to their enemies. But if he changed sides now, not only would Vizsla crucify him, Reau would help the _Kyr’tsad_ do it.

Talk about stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He shuddered at the thought.

And to think, it had only been _two_ of Jaster’s supercommandos that had done all this. At first he was sure he’d been mistaken; but in the end, footprints don’t lie. So many sets entering; only two sets leaving. And one of those had been standing in an alcove for at least some amount of time; which meant that the other set of prints belonged to…

A spy.

Yep, no doubt about it: Vizsla was going to kill him.

He just hoped the bodies were identifiable enough to give him a lead. After all, a quick death was better than a painful one.

And Vizsla wasn’t known for being merciful.

* * *

“Bo? What’s wrong?”

“Satine.” She swallowed. “I…I have some news. And you’re not going to like it. Any of it.”

“Bo, when does _anyone_ ever like any of it? Come; surely it can’t all be that bad.”

“Kenobi’s back.”

“…Apparently I was mistaken; It _can_ be that bad.”

“It gets worse. Fett was in the _Oyu’baat_ today.”

“Yes, Father told me. Extremely unfortunate; I had hoped he’d crawled off and died in a hole somewhere.”

“Did Father tell you who he was there with?”

“Yes, the pitiful remainders of his _True Mandalorians.”_ Satine scoffed at the words. _“_ What of it?”

“Kenobi was there.”

Satine frowned. “Really? What interest could the Jedi have in _Fett?”_

“Not the Jedi, Satine; just Kenobi. He’s…he’s sworn the _Resol’nare._ He’s Fett’s, now. Not the Jedi’s, not yours, not anyone else’s.”

For a brief moment, she could have sworn her sister stopped breathing. “And he’s got a brother.”

Satine’s eyes hardened. “Bo. You are going to tell me _everything;_ and you are going to leave absolutely _nothing_ out. Am I clear?”

“Crystal clear,” she nodded glumly.

Transparent, in fact.


	7. The Wheels Just Keep On Turning

I own nothing. Least of all this.

7) THE WHEELS JUST KEEP ON TURNING

“…I don’t get it.”

Kenobi looked up from the parts bin he was rummaging through. “Pardon?”

She crossed her arms. “Maul. He went in without you. Alone.”

“Yes…that’s correct.”

He wasn’t getting it. “He should have waited. You know it, I know it. Hell, even _Fett_ knows it.”

“…Forgive me, but I’m afraid I’m missing the point.”

“Fett’s mad at him. I’m mad at him. So why aren’t you?”

Kenobi shifted to a lotus position from the awkward squat he’d been in previously. “Well, that would be because there were certain…mitigating factors that neither you nor Fett knew about.”

“Such as?”

“…Let’s just say things would have escalated quite quickly should certain individuals have recognized me. Any eventual meeting between myself and any member of House Kryze is more or less guaranteed to be…explosive.”

She waited for further explanation.

It never came.

Instead, Obi-Wan seemed to switch tacks entirely. “Of course, while I may not be ‘mad’, per say, I’m certainly put out. And you were entirely correct in your appraisal of Fett’s feelings on the situation. Which is why Maul is currently suffering through each and every _Mando’a_ drinking song in one Kal Skirata’s repertoire.”

* * *

_“_ _Aliik ner’troan, hiibir ner’gaan, naas’nerir vercopa suvarir…”_

Maul let out a groan. _“Must_ you sing that particular song?”

Skirata just grinned. “What? It’s a perfectly good tune. Got something against it, _bev’as_?”

“Call me ‘Spiky’ one more time, Skirata, and you shall find yourself floating to Tatooine.”

“I’m shaking in my boots. And I’m _shaav_ well gonna sing whatever I like.”

“Considering we’re about to attempt what could quite possibly be one of the most difficult operations either of us will ever undertake, perhaps it would be wise to avoid tempting the Force by singing a literal _dirge_.”

Skirata humphed. “You know _shaav_ well it only counts as a dirge if you sing it _after_ the fight. Singing it before just puts you in the right frame of mind. And besides, something tells me we’re a few hands too few to try _Dha Werda Verda.”_

He turned in his seat to take in the extremely cramped space behind them. “Hmm. It would seem we’re a few cubic meters short as well.”

Skirata blinked. “…And here I was thinking Kenobi was the funny one. Got any more good ones, _bev’as?”_

Good ones, no. _Terrible_ ones, most definitely. Courtesy of one Ezra Bridger. “Are you perchance acquainted with the way the first Ewoks came into being?”

“…I give. How?”

“Let us just say that shaving Wookies with the Force wasn’t the most brilliant of ideas.”

“…I believe it. Sounds like something the Force would get a kick out of.”

Shaav’it. _“Haat o'r an nuhune,_ Skirata. But not in this one, I’m afraid.”

Skirata rubbed his chin in thought. “…Nope, not buying it. But if you feel like testing it, I’m sure we can dig up a Wookie somewhere on Tatooine. Now, I wonder if Kenobi would help me…”

He sighed. “Probably. If only for the opportunity to prove me wrong.”

Skirata let out a snort. “Typical _vode_ behavior.”

 _Vode…_ now wasn’t that just ironic. Who could possibly have anticipated that Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and High Council Member, the famed “Negotiator”, and Darth Maul, Dark Lord of the Sith and former _Manda’lor,_ would ever end up as brothers. Yet here they were.

And with a bunch of _pathetic life-forms_ tagging along as well (he was never letting Kenobi hear the end of that one. Calling the literal Chosen One ‘pathetic’; hilarious).

Back to the conversation at hand. “Indeed. Forgive me my curiosity…but such speech indicates more than a passing familiarity with the subject. By chance, do you have any _vode_ of your own?”

“…No. At least…” Skirata turned to stare out the inky black beyond. “Not for some time.”

Ah. “Since Galidraan.”

“Earlier, I’m afraid.”

“ _Ade?”_

“Two. Don’t see them much, though. Their mother’s Corellian; never swore the oaths. We made it work, for a while. But it wasn’t meant to last.”

Skirata’s signature in the Force resembled a turbulent stream; all eddies and whirls. “You still miss her, though. And them.”

Skirata shifted uneasily in his seat. “Well, of course. They’re my _aliit._ Even if they’re not actually _Mando’a.”_

He knew the feeling. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss Savage’s comforting presence beside him. Kenobi tried, and he appreciated that. Ventress helped…but it wasn’t the same.

“…I suppose one verse couldn’t hurt.”

Skirata gave him a sideways glance. “Really? Five minutes ago you were threatening to eject me for it. What changed?”

“Let’s just say I had far more respect for the lyrics than I did for your humiliating attempts to utter them. The last thing we need is your voice shattering the viewscreen.”

“Oh very funny.”

“ _But,”_ he grinned, _“_ I believe that as long as you confine yourself to the lower notes, we should be fine.”

“You got it. _Sol’tuur gar, nay, slanar at akaan, bal de iba’canara ret gar naas’chaab Kyr’am naasad…”_

* * *

She blinked. “I thought that was because Skirata didn’t trust Maul and wanted to keep an eye on him.”

“Quite true, I’m afraid. But that’s just one of the reasons. You also have to keep in mind that while Fett trusts Skirata, Vau _doesn’t_ trust Skirata, and neither Fett nor Vau trust each other. Which is why we’re the only ones riding with Hondo; he’s the only one we can all agree is dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly; it’s the honest ones you have to look out for. Because you can never tell when they’re about to do something extremely…stupid.”

* * *

One of these days, he kept telling himself. One of these days, he was gonna move the copilot’s chair up beside the pilot’s.

But for once, and just the once, he was glad he hadn’t actually gotten around to it yet.

Vau leaned forward. “Can you move your seat up?”

There was really only one response he could give.

“No.” Fett replied.

And pushed his seat back.

* * *

She gave up trying to understand whatever it was Obi-Wan had just tried to say, and opted instead to switch subjects entirely. “So…is there a _reason_ Hondo’s just letting you rummage around in his scrap pile, or…?”

“Trust me, Asajj,” Obi-Wan grunted as he pulled a particularly stuck bit of wiring out of a random box, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that Hondo Ohnaka _always_ has a reason. Not always a good one, but a reason, nonetheless. And the odds of anyone else ever understanding said reason are somewhere around the same as successfully making the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs.”

“…Seeing as how I don’t know what the Kessel Run actually _is,_ I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“Quite. Now, while I might not be able to tell you _Hondo’s_ reason for letting me ‘rummage around’, as you put it, I’m more than willing to share mine; or, to be more accurate, yours.”

“…What?”

“Yours. To be specific…your lightsaber. We’re building it.”

“What, _now?”_

“Well, we are on a tight schedule. And both Maul and I agree that there’s no time like the present. Now, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

She sank into a lotus position of her own next to the scattered parts containers. “What am I looking for?”

“Emitters, grips, focusing lenses, wiring, that sort of thing. I’d ask if you preferred to use parts from your Master’s hilt, but Maul was kind enough to pass on your earlier conversation, so we won’t be doing that.”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “We won’t.”

They spent the better part of an hour going through all the boxes, and when they were done, multiple piles of various parts lay spread out on the floor, all separated by type.

“So…” she leaned back and wiped the sweat off her face, “what now?”

Obi-Wan gave a half-hearted shrug. “Normally? We’d have a droid to catalog each part and see what can actually fit together safely. But I guess we’ll have to skip that step and go right to the crystal.”

He reached into one of the pouches strapped to his armor, and pulled out a handful of gems. Each one shining a different color in both the light and the Force. “I’m afraid you’re going to be a bit limited in your choices; there were only a few unfractured crystals on board the _Infiltrator,_ so Maul and I both volunteered our own to see if they would be a better fit for you than they are for us.”

Her head jerked up in surprise. “What? No, you can’t! You _need_ them!”

“Need is a very strong word, Asajj. And besides, we’d both…grown out of them, I guess you could say. They still work for us, but not as well as they used to. Rather like how your Master’s feels to you. Speaking of, Maul also mentioned you might be more at home with a dual-crystal core. So, if you would be kind enough to take out Master Nerac’s…”

Slowly, her fingers ghosted over the hilt of Master Nerac’s saber. She couldn’t use it herself, she knew that. And it made sense to keep his hilt somewhere safe. But she still wanted to keep some part of it, some part of _him,_ with her. Even now, when she knew for a fact she would never, _could_ never, be a Jedi.

And the crystal was the best way to do that.

With nary a word, she unclipped the saber from her belt, twisted the casing open just so, and let the glowing green stone drop into Obi-Wan’s waiting hand.

“Excellent. And from here on out…it’s all up to you. Concentrate; picture it in your mind’s eye. Meditate on it’s shape; it’s feel. Let the Force guide you…”

Her eyelids slid shut as the Force flowed into her. There was…something. A flash of…silver? Yes, definitely silver. And ebony…an ebony guard.

A casing was all well and good, but what she really need to see was the heart. She focused as hard as she could, and _pushed._

The image zoomed in with a swirl, leaving behind two trails of light in its path: green, and red. And there, right at the core, they came together in a glorious explosion of light. Brilliant, yellow, light.

There was no mistaking the green: Master Nerac’s. But the red…the red she couldn’t place. It felt like Maul, but only barely. There was something, some _one_ else it had belonged to.

It didn’t matter; at least not now. There were more important things to worry about. Slowly, she relaxed her grip on the vision, letting it flow backwards just enough to see the next layer of what would come to be her new lightsaber.

Painstakingly, she would graft on the parts that felt right, and discard the ones that didn’t. It seemed like hours before the last piece of the casing snapped home, leaving her free to open her eyes once more…and almost collapse from exhaustion.

Obi-Wan was there to catch her. “Hey, it’s okay. You did fine; no, better than fine. You did _fantastic._ You can rest now.”

“My…” Her throat had gone dry. She rapidly swallowed to try and get her voice back. “My…saber?”

“Right here.” She looked down to find it resting in her lap. When did that happen? “I must say, quite an unconventional blade. Yellow blades are rare enough on their own; to form one using a combination of two different colors entirely is unheard of. And a Makashi grip as well…although, that one did come as less of a surprise, considering.”

She wanted to ask, ‘considering what?’, but found she just didn’t have the voice for it. Instead, she settled for grasping her brand new hilt loosely, and activating it.

A burning, golden glow erupted from the emitter, leaving spots dancing in her vision. Bright…so bright.

She shut if off again, leaving them once more in the ship’s dim internal lighting.

“Very well done, Asajj. Feel free to rest; you’ve earned it.”

“What…bout…you?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m afraid I’ve got much the same sort of task in front of me. So don’t be surprised if you find me joining you very shortly.”

That sounded nice…

She was asleep.

* * *

There was absolutely no way things could even remotely be considered ‘good’.

By his estimation, he was at least three speeder fares, a long walk, and seven hyperspace jumps away from ‘good’.

If not further.

How could he tell? Simple: he could count on one hand the total number of times he and his grandfather had actually interacted face-to-face, and each and every one of those times had had been the briefest of exchanges at some important (read: unskippable) function or event.

He knew why, of course: his very existence was, at some level, an embarrassment. His mother had been an illegitimate daughter of the _Jorada’lor_ , and the only reason the Duke had ever taken him in was his mother’s death and father’s subsequent disappearance (presumed murder) during the war. That wasn’t the official story, naturally, but it was the one everyone secretly believed. And because of that, his interactions with the rest of Sundari’s nobility were extremely limited.

Including his grandfather.

So to be summoned before the Duke, and the Duke alone (not counting his aunts)…something had to have gone very, very wrong indeed. Something that almost guaranteed his thus far relatively sheltered residence in the palace was about to come to a very abrupt end.

Briefly he considered making a run for it. Aunt Bo had friends in Keldabe; with a bit of luck, he could probably make it there on his own. No…running would just make things worse when they eventually found him. There was only one way left for him to go: forward.

Directly into the throne room itself.

As expected, the Duke remained seated; Aunt Satine standing on his right, and Aunt Bo on his left. Aunt Bo looked…scared? No; impossible. Nothing scared Aunt Bo. Ever. Not even Aunt Satine once she got going. And yet…it looked like something had managed to do exactly that. His sense of impending doom seemed to double as his gaze drifted to focus on his other _ba’voda._ If Aunt _Bo_ was scared…then Aunt Satine was downright _terrified._

Yep, no doubt about it. Something had definitely gone to _osik._ And his life was most definitely about to get flipped upside down.

“Kor.” The Duke’s gruff but kindly tone echoed throughout the chamber. “Son of House Kryze. It was my fondest wish that you should live out the rest of your life, never bearing the burden that is about to be laid upon you. But alas, certain…”

Here the Duke directed a glare at Aunt Bo, who cringed, “ _recent events,_ have forced my hand. Tell me, young Kor…what do you know of your ancestry?”

This was it; the end of the line. Welp, he managed to last longer than he’d expected. Hopefully he’d manage to last just as long outside the palace walls.

But he rather doubted it.

Still, he was Mandalorian. And he would face his future like one, no matter what it held.

He swallowed, and answered. “Sir…I know that…that my mother was only…half…Mandalorian.”

For some reason, Aunt Satine flinched at that.

He continued. “I know that my…father…wasn’t Mandalorian at all. That he…well, that they both…died.”

He was ashamed to admit his voice cracked a little on that last phrase.

For what seemed an eternity, he stood there, head hung low. Waiting for the inevitable.

Finally, the Duke let out a sigh. “The expected and, until now, entirely correct answer for someone of your age. It is, however, not the truth.”

…What.

“There is a saying that I believe applies very well here; originating, I think, with the Bothans: ‘The truth is such a precious thing that it must be, at all times, protected by a bodyguard of lies’. What you know of your parents, child, was nothing more than another layer of misdirection meant to discourage any interested parties from further investigation into the exact…circumstances…of your birth.”

Circumstances? What the kriff did he mean, _circumstances?_ What in the name of the _Manda’lor_ could be bad enough that meant being raised as an illegitimate heir was _better?_

The Duke took absolutely no notice of his agitation, and just kept hacking away at what little in his world he thought he’d known for certain. “Your father is not, as you have been told, dead. His is very much alive, I’m afraid; and the only reason you are being told this now is that…”

Don’t, _please_ don’t tell him his father was a terrible man…

“…He has chosen now, of all times, to make his return to Mandalore. For the first time since before you were born, in fact.”

He couldn’t help himself; he had to know. “…Of all times? Why ‘of all times’? Why now? Where? Who? Does…does he think I’m dead? Like…like my mother? Does he…”

The Duke raised his hand in admonishment. “Calm yourself, young Kor. Your questions will be answered; but I think that, perhaps, your Aunt Satine knows more about the matter than I. So, I shall take my leave. You may both… _discuss_ the matter in private. Come, Bo-Katan; we have _other things_ to attend to.”

He could only stare as Aunt Bo followed the duke from the room. The guards followed them out as well, leaving he and his aunt utterly alone in the chamber. If the room had felt rather empty before, now it felt nothing less than devoid of any and all life. It didn’t help that Aunt Satine rather looked more like a corpse than not.

Slowly, he moved forward, closing the distance between them. She remained frozen in place, standing rigidly beside the throne.

 _“Ba’voda?”_ he whispered.

“I…”, she began, then trailed off. “I…oh, Kor. I’m…I’m just…so…sorry. So very, very sorry.”

He did his very best to keep his tone low and reassuring. “For what?”

“For…everything. Everything I’m about to tell you; that you’re about to find out. Oh, how I wish you didn’t…that we didn’t…but we do. _I_ do. Just…just don’t hate your father. Or your grandfather. It’s all entirely my fault…and I hope that, someday, you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me…for what I’ve done.”

“Aunt Satine…what did you do?”

“Kor…your father…your father was…a Jedi. And…for the Jedi…it’s forbidden.”

“Children?”

“Not just children; family. Any…any attachment, whatsoever. They aren’t allowed; not ever. Not to hate…or to love. If your father had…if he had known you existed…he would’ve left the Order. He would have stayed…for you. And I, in my blindness…I believed the Jedi needed him more.”

“…He doesn’t know.”

Satine just slowly shook her head. “No. He doesn’t.”

“My own father. And he doesn’t even know I _exist._ He doesn’t even know my _name.”_

Why was the room getting dark? And why were the walls suddenly a lot closer than they were three seconds ago?

“ _He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know…”_

A pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him in close. “Oh Kor. I’m sorry; so, so, _so_ sorry. It’s going to be okay; I promise. We’re going to tell him. And he’s going to _love_ you.”

“He won’t.” The words seemed to come from within. “He can’t. He’s a Jedi.”

“Not anymore, Kor. Not anymore.” She was crying. “He left. He’s left the Order. He’s one of us, now; a Mandalorian. He’ll come; you’ll see. And he’ll stay. For you. _For us.”_

“…Us?”

“Yes, Kor. _Us.”_

“…It’s you, isn’t it. It’s _you.”_

“Yes, Kor.” The tears were streaming down her face. “It’s _me._ It’s always been _me.”_

“…You’re my _mom.”_

He had parents.

They were alive.

He had _parents,_ and they were _alive._

“You’re my _mom.”_

And then he was crying, too.

* * *

Sitting still was most definitely _not_ Qui-Gonn’s forte.

He’d never been a particularly patient man; convalescence had merely exacerbated the condition. So, he’d taken to wandering the halls of the Temple, poking and prying into whatever unused or unoccupied nooks and crannies he happened across. But tonight…tonight was different.

Sleep had eluded him; a not infrequent occurrence. What _was_ infrequent, however, was clear and pointed direction from the Force Itself. Direction he was now following into black depths of the Temple that were utterly alien and unfamiliar to him.

He’d thought he’d found every secret his home had to hold; but apparently not. His meditations usually took place in the Room of a Thousand Fountains (admittedly less often nowadays since that was Anakin’s new favorite room in the Temple), but even _he’d_ managed the endless stairs once or twice down to the ironically-named Spire when he just needed to be as close as he could to the Light of the Force. And yet, somehow, he’d managed to miss the single, simple door, tucked away in a corner of the chamber.

A door that, when opened, revealed a yawning, abyssal passage behind it.

The Force seemed to whisper to him from beyond the dark; and yet, It’s message remained unclear.

_Change?_

Or was it, _Chains?_

Impossible to say, one way or the other. Oh, well; he’d find out soon enough. Tightening his grip on his cane, and the lightsaber now concealed within, he took a deep breath…and stepped through the door.

* * *

_Author’s Note:_

_I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Sorry guys, but when you get the atrocity that was the Supernatural finale (and trust me, I’m already writing a fix-it), new Mandalorian content, and Destiny 2: Beyond Light, all within an extremely short span of time…you know how it is._

_So. Some of you asked exactly how it is that Duke Kryze is alive in this universe. Simple: I never accepted the ‘canon’ explanation for his death. It makes absolutely no sense to separate a Jedi Master and his Padawan for guard duty, and then to leave only said Padawan behind to guard the most important individual: namely, the new Grand Duchess. And we know for a fact Obi-Wan and Satine were by themselves, because, honestly, how else do you think Korkie happened? Answer: Qui-Gonn was off guarding the Duke by himself, and Obi-Wan was with Satine. Separation of valuable targets; the same reason the President and Vice-President never take the same plane. It makes much more sense for the Duke to have died after Obi-Wan and Qui-Gonn left, but before the Clone Wars started. And that’s the story I’m sticking with._

_Oh, and if anyone was curious, the song Skirata was singing is a real one that I translated into Mando’a. Its name is “Paint My Face”, by a group called The Devil Makes Three, and you can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2ApyxNOQEA. The translation goes, “Come paint my face, come take my hand, I do not wish you to understand; Someday you, too, will go to war, and by that time may you not fear Death anymore.”_

_Needless to say, most Jaster Mereel song ever._


	8. Yeah, They Were All Yellow

I own nothing. Least of all this.

* * *

_Important: Read the Author’s Note at the bottom if you get just as confused as I am!_

8) YEAH, THEY WERE ALL YELLOW

The Force was thick down here.

And putrid.

Like a wound, allowed to fester for far too long; full of oozing regret and bloody memories.

Qui-Gonn summoned as much Light as he could, and wrapped himself in a shield to protect against the taint. But the further down he went, the fouler the Force became…and the weaker the Light. His shield flickered and rippled, sometimes leaving visible traces in the dusty air where the unseen battle was raging. Like a flood crashing against already weakened banks, all of his walls were rapidly being worn away.

The whispers grew louder, but never more distinct. Whatever message the Force had first sent him was now being drowned out by countless cries of pain, sorrow, and anger. The suffering of eons past. And they were all battering relentlessly against not only the Light around him, but the Light within him as well. One thing he knew for certain, his mental shielding would never be the same.

A crescendo of Darkness swept past him as he reached the end of his journey; the corridor opened out into a wide, echoing (circular?) chamber. A chamber whose only lighting seemed to be an eerie glow emanating from the ziggurat that rose in the center. An altar? Or perhaps a throne?

He resisted the urge to snort. Knowing the sort the Dark attracted, the chances that it was both were rather high.

The whispers were gone now; all that was left was silence. Death had taken up permanent residence in this place; nothing grew here. The living had long since vacated. And from the looks of things, it had been that way for a very long while indeed.

So why did he feel like he was being watched?

Slowly, he stepped towards the ziggurat. Unfamiliar runes ran around the base; old, and full of hate. For a moment, he could have sworn it was actually the _hate_ causing that angry glow; but then he blinked, and the runes went back to being the carven stone that they were. That they had always been.

Steps, thin and sharp rose to the spire’s summit. Traversing them with a cane would be no easy task; even as he considered the best way to approach the problem, some part of him in the back of his mind questioned why he was even considering it.

And then someone’s breath caught behind him, and all thoughts of a climb were immediately discarded.

There was a time when he would have whirled to face the threat head on; as it was, the best he could manage was a subtly threatening pivot. Obi-Wan would’ve…laughed. Yes; yes, he would have laughed.

He ignored the pang that the thought of his former apprentice gave him, and concentrated solely on the person whom he was now solidly facing.

Female; human, or very near. Young, but not overly so. An unlit lightsaber in her hand. And her eyes…

They were yellow.

“Tell me, Master Jinn,” she smirked, “Have you worked it out just yet exactly _how_ Xanatos managed to hide his Darkness in the midst of so many Jedi?”

His heart stopped.

“To make his way through the heart of the Temple, never once being noticed? Your precious Council was oh so happy to just say _oh, must have been the waterways,_ and never look further. Never look _deeper._ Have you realized why that is?”

The word was sand on his tongue. “Here.”

The evil smiled in delight. “Good! Your greatest apprentice, the wisest, the strongest…and by far the smartest. Do you know, he found this place all on his own? Never once needing help, or guidance from…others.”

He recognized her, now. And his anger could no longer be kept at bay by the Light.

“Unlike _you.”_ He spat. “Even my failings were still lesser than those of my Master…isn’t that right, _Vosa?”_

The witch’s smile froze, and then stretched into a predator’s grin. “You know, I had wondered why _he,_ of all people, would send you to test me. But now I know; I know what you are supposed to represent.”

There was only one _he_ she could mean. “The Sith Master?”

“Oh, isn’t he a clever one! Yes, oh great and wise Jedi; the Master. The one who has lost his Apprentice to yours; or perhaps it is the other way around? Either way, until the return of his prize, or prizes, as the case may be, he is in need of a…replacement. And _I…”_ Her lightsaber flew to her hand. “Am in need of your head.”

He gripped the hilt concealed in the handle of his cane. “Then I’m afraid that both of you are going to be rather disappointed.”

She laughed. “Listen to yourself, Jinn! A half-dead maverick; exiled by his own choices, and then isolated by his failings. You are _me;_ a version of me that never saw, that never learned the truth. Where is the power of the Light here? Where was the power of the Light in the Room of a Thousand Fountains; on Mandalore; on Naboo? _I_ am the greatest of Dooku’s Apprentices, and I shall prove it tonight, when I do what my predecessor could not; kill you, and claim the Holocron my Master offers in return! The very Holocron that drew you here tonight, and at this moment, is resting a mere hundred feet behind your head!”

He reflexively jerked to look; and it was all the opening Vosa needed.

Her first blow came spinning straight for his precious support; the cane on which he was dependent. It was an obvious weakness; one he had counted on being noticed. The red of her blade crackled as it bounced off of the deceptively hard material. His own saber was in his hand a split second later, green flaring to life in stark contrast to the matte brown of the wood in his other.

Her eyes met his in surprise...and then in fury.

“ _Gimer_ wood!” she hissed. “I might have known. No matter; you are still weak, Jedi. And Ataru was not meant for two blades.”

From that moment on, there was nothing else.

Nothing but the fight.

Vosa was partially correct; Ataru was a style of combat that revolved entirely around showy acrobatics and unexpected lanes of attack. To try it Jar’Kai, or two-bladed, was to take one’s own life (and limb) in hand. But he was no longer the agile man he had once been; and a cane made of indestructible wood was not, strictly speaking, a weapon dangerous to one’s own person. The acrobatics were kept to a minimum, and the addition of another method of attack doubled his chance of capitalizing on an opening.

Ironic; whereas Vosa had spent her Apprenticeship trying to become exactly what Dooku expected, he had done the exact opposite. And as such, he had become not just a Master of Ataru, but more than passable with Jar’Kai as well. Solely because it never ceased to irritate his overbearing Master.

And yet, for all that, he was still losing.

It was embarrassing; Vosa was nowhere near the level of the Sith he had faced on Naboo. Her strikes were telegraphed, her form, sloppy. To utilize Makashi without the signature curved grip saber was to deliberately handicap oneself; to abandon all pretense of defense solely for aggression was suicide. Or at least, it should have been.

But the Light was dim down here. And the Dark was _oh so strong._

What Light was left was coming entirely from within; and even then, it was a trickle compared to his normal level. With each deflected blow or missed counterattack, he could feel himself growing weaker. Until at last he found himself with his back to the wall, and nowhere left to run.

Vosa looked positively gleeful in the glare of their saber lock. “You have failed, Jinn. Over and over again, you have failed. Your Master, the Council, Xanatos, Chun, Tahl, Kenobi…and now, even your precious Chosen One.”

His eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh, did you think my Lord wouldn’t notice? He knows _everything,_ Jedi. Dooku already walks close to the shadows; how hard will it be for his apprentice to follow him deeper into the gray? The Holocron will teach me; instruct me how to hide. I will return to the Jedi, much as our Master has done. I will earn his trust, and that of the Chosen One. I will push the pair of them into the Dark. And when the time comes, I will kill the old fool, and take his Padawan as mine; as he should have been, were it not for _you!”_

_Rage._

For the first time since he was a mere Initiate in the creche…Qui-Gonn Jinn lost control. No, not the ‘control’ with which he had struggled since time immemorial, that of attachment. No, this control was deeper; and much more important. It was his grasp upon the nature of the Force itself. And it had slid from his grip straight into the well of the Dark.

But one thought now solely occupied his thoughts: _kill._

And it was a thought he found himself well-able to enact.

Vosa’s head went flying; beheaded by both her own blade and his. His cane had disappeared; for some reason, the loss no longer seemed as heavy to him as it once did. He took in a deep breath…and panicked when he found himself unable to release his emotions into the Force.

He had no doubt his eyes were now burning the same yellow Vosa’s had seconds earlier. The same golden shade the Zabrak’s had.

And he knew of only one way to conceal them.

Broken, but unbeaten, former Jedi Master Qui-Gonn Jinn made his way to the top of the ziggurat.

The Holocron was waiting, as the witch had said. He reached out with all of his anger, all of his regret and shame…and it flared to life. A glowing blue figure appeared midair, emanating from the Holocron’s capstone. The Sith Lord.

_“It is as I have foreseen, Qui-Gonn Jinn. You have defeated the pretender who would have dared to take from you what was rightfully yours; and in doing so, you have Fallen. What now would you ask of me?”_

He bowed his head, and knelt. “To show me how to…how to hide. I must learn to conceal myself; I _must.”_

The hooded figure smiled. _“The Chosen One; you wish to save him?”_

“Yes; him and…another.”

A disturbing chuckle. _“Young Kenobi? Yes, I can see why. Have no doubt, Qui-Gonn Jinn, that the Force has brought you here for a reason; for I, too, wish to see your former Apprentice returned to you. Swear yourself to me, and I shall not only teach you how to hide, but how to save those whom you hold most dear.”_

“I swear.”

_“Then rise. From this moment forth, you shall be known as Darth…Tyrannus. I, Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, have spoken!”_

* * *

Anakin blinked, then rubbed his eyes.

He was going to kill Master Dooku.

 _Dha Werda Verda_ had seemed like a good idea at the time; that is, right up until he realized he was going to have to practically bury the teacher in cross-references and supporting sources. Master Dooku’s rampage in the training salles was already the stuff of Temple legend, and if he were going to live up to expectations and follow it up with a wordy beatdown of epic proportions, and _not_ give anyone the idea he wasn’t happy being Master Dooku’s Apprentice, then he absolutely had to make this assignment perfect.

Which was why he was in the Temple Archives at two o’clock in the morning, and already on his fifth cup of caf. It wasn’t helping matters that the glare from the screen was truly horrendous. It _really_ wasn’t helping that his Basic was nowhere near as good as his Huttese.

_“Et chu ta!”_

“Having trouble?”

He whirled in his chair. A boy was standing there; a teenager. And in Padawan robes. The boy cleared his throat. “I’m sorry; if I…I’ll just…go, then…”

“No, no, it’s…fine. You’re fine.”

The boy frowned. “Are you sure?”

“…No.”

“Ah. Can I…help?”

He groaned. “Not unless you can convince Madame Nu install a dimmer switch in here.”

“I know, right? Anyone who’s ever in here at this sort of time always says something about it; but I’m afraid in the Archives, Madame Nu’s word is law.”

_“Shaav’it!”_

The boy swallowed. “You know, even though I might not know exactly what that means, I can certainly guess. And if I can guess, you can bet your last credit Madame Nu knows. So if I were you, I’d keep the swearing down to a mild uproar.”

“…Thanks. I think. I’m Anakin, by the way.”

“And I am Pada…” the boy stopped mid-sentence, then slowly started again. “Ferus. My name’s Ferus.”

“…You were going to say Padawan, weren’t you?”

A haunted look ghosted past on the boy’s face. “…Yes.”

There was only one reason he could think of for a Padawan losing their Master. “…How did it happen?”

The boy gave a sigh, then slid into the chair next to Anakin’s. “Pirates.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No. But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.”

The boy said nothing; Anakin elected to take that as a sign to change the topic. “I don’t suppose you’re any good at…proof-reading, I think it’s called? My Basic is…not so good, and I could really use the help.”

The boy…no, Ferus, his name was Ferus, lifted his head and smiled. “Now, that’s more like it. What’ve you got so far?”

As they pored over the meager amount of words Anakin had managed to spout onto the page, he couldn’t help but feel this might be the beginning of a beautiful…something.

* * *

When Asajj came to, Obi-Wan was nowhere to be found.

Unfortunately, Hondo _was._

“Were you watching me _sleep?”_

“Of course not!” the pirate laughed. “Right now, I must confess I am far too busy for such diversions! No, I am merely here as a humble messenger; we have reached our destination, and my very dear friend Kenobi has departed to fulfill his and the honorable Master Fett’s part of the great plan! _And,_ your most esteemed brother is here to assist us in ours! So, if you would be so kind as to join us, the gesture would be much appreciated!”

She groaned, and pushed herself off the floor. “Has anyone told you you’re really loud in the morning?”

“My dear lady, Hondo is loud at all hours of the day _and_ night! Now come; your lovely brother is waiting!”

Just for that, she decided to delay as long as she could. “Did Obi-Wan have a new lightsaber with him when he left?”

“Ah, you mean one of your fancy laser swords! I must confess, dear lady, that your paramour was unfortunately unable to find an appropriate crystal. But he has given instructions for me to assure you that he is confident he knows what the problem is, and that it is one easily resolved!”

“Well, that’s good news at leas…wait, what do you mean _paramour?!”_

The last part of her sentence went, unfortunately, unheard. Hondo was long gone.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?”

Kenobi sighed. “For the last time, Fett; she worked in Gardulla’s Palace. She knows more people in this hive of scum and villainy than both of us combined. And lastly, I knew her son. She’s good people.”

He snorted. “No such thing as a good person. Only kind, and unkind.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Now, if you would be so kind…”

He sighed, and moved out of the way.

Kenobi rapped twice on the metal door, paused, then followed up with three more.

It cracked open, and a single eye peered out. “Yes?”

“Shmi Skywalker? My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi; I’m a friend of Qui-Gon Jinn’s.”

The door did not open wider. “He made no mention of you.”

“He would not have; I am no Jedi. He did, however, make a promise to your son Anakin. I am here to fulfill at least part of that promise.”

The eye flashed dangerously, and the door began to swing closed. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I bid you a good day, and swift…”

_“Starlight was my mother, and my father was the Dark.”_

The door stopped dead in its tracks. “…What did you say?”

He could only stare as Kenobi smashed all his theories to bits with the next line in the sequence: _“The rain was long ago; but the desert does not forget.”_

The crack grew just a tad wider. _“…The desert never forgets.”_

_“The mighty one comes, with storm and with fire.”_

The door slid fully open to reveal a woman. Hard, like the life she’d had and the desert she’d lived in.

_“We will walk free.”_

_“Who tells the rain what it is?”_

_“The ripple.”_ The last line fell from her lips in a whisper. “Did someone tell you a story?”

Kenobi nodded. “Once upon a rain. She was a Whitesun.”

Shmi Skywalker (for it could only be she) pursed her lips, and gestured them in. “Then you are most welcome.”

He numbly followed Kenobi into the sandstone structure. To think, all this time he’d assumed…

Skywalker slid the door shut behind them, then bolted it shut. “I’m afraid all I have to offer is water…”

Kenobi’s head tilted slightly in deference. “But water can sometimes be more precious than blood. Your offer is appreciated, but unneeded.”

The last traces of tension melted out of the woman, and it was as if she shed ten years with the gesture. “I’m sorry, but I had to be sure.”

“I quite understand.” Kenobi nodded towards an empty chair at the table. “May I…?”

“Of course.”

Skywalker joined Kenobi in the chair opposite; he elected to remain standing, if only to see how the conversation played out without his interference.

She obviously noticed. “Your man?”

Kenobi chuckled. “On the contrary; I’m his. More or less.”

Skywalker nodded. “Good. It’s good to have people. At first, when you said your name was Obi-Wan Kenobi, I was…”

“Apprehensive?”

“…Wary. It’s not quite normal for someone to willingly admit to the name, _‘No-One, Son of_ _Nothing’_.”

“Quite. But as you can see, I’ve done my best to make it my own.”

“Indeed. Are you a bounty hunter?”

“On odd days. But right now, I’m here on a much more worthwhile assignment. Tell me; how much do you remember of Gardulla’s Palace?”

Skywalker’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Gardulla? What business could you possibly…”

Realization set in, and she stiffened. “You can’t. Two Mandalorians cannot _possibly…_ they just _can’t.”_

His sense of pride gave a small twinge. “You doubt the abilities of the _Mando’ade?”_

Her eyes fixed on his visor with laser-like intensity; it was the most intimidated he’d ever felt behind the mask. “Gardulla has Mandalorians. Not many, and they’re technically on loan. But I’ve seen how they work; so yes. I doubt.”

Kenobi’s calm tone stilled the air between them. “Then it’s a good thing there are quite a few more than two of us, isn’t it?”

The laser focus snapped to the younger man. “How many do you have?”

“Eight. Plus an entire crew of…scoundrels, who’ve seen first-hand just how fine a Hutt’s art collection can be.”

She snorted. “Impossible. If you had a month, maybe you could come up with something, but this?”

“We’ve had a month.” Kenobi leaned forward. “And we _have_ come up with something.”

“…You’re serious.”

“Rarely. But on this occasion, yes. Deathly.”

“…Fine.” The sigh seemed to add those ten years back on, and more besides. “Tell me what you need.”

Kenobi’s eyes were glinting as he began to lay out the plan. “Names, mainly. We’ve got a qualified doctor with us whose used to field surgery; Mij Gilimar, and he’ll be along tomorrow with another friend of ours, Rav Bralor. Just in case anyone would prefer not to deal with a man. They can start getting the slave chips out, and once that’s well underway, we can move in…”

All in all, it was a relatively elegant plan. A bit flashy, but what else could you expect when Ohnaka, Skirata, and Kenobi had been the ones to plan it?

By the time they were done explaining, Skywalker’s face (Shmi, her name was Shmi) was displaying an emotion she’d obviously been lacking for far too long: hope. And he was genuinely starting to like their odds of success.

As Kenobi slipped out into the rapidly cooling air of the desert, he lingered behind. Just long enough to tell Shmi something that would hopefully smooth over any ruffled feathers.

“Kenobi wasn’t the only _Amatakka_ here today.”

She smiled. “I know. Even someone named Kenobi would never dare say what he said in front of anyone who wasn’t. I trust you, Jango Fett. In this regard, at least. _We are not the sand.”_

He bowed his head. _“We are not the sun.”_

They finished it together.

_“We are the desert.”_

There was nothing else that needed to be said.

Except to a certain _Ha’at Mando’ade_ who had apparently been holding out on him.

No doubt Kenobi was frowning at him under his _buy’ce._ “Fett? What’s wrong? You’ve got the hot murder walk going on, and can I just say it’s being a bit wasted…”

He grabbed Kenobi’s arm, and pulled him along into the shadows of an alleyway. “Sweet _Ka’ra_ above, how is it you can talk for so long about absolutely nothing at all, and yet manage to leave out the very important detail _that you were a slave!”_

He spit the last phrase out as he rammed Kenobi up and into the wall. “ _Why didn’t you tell me!”_

“…I couldn’t. Not without making it sound…well…”

Understanding dawned. “Condescending? Because I used to be a slave too?”

His grip tightened. “ _Is that it, Kenobi?”_

“ _Udesii, vod, udesii.”_

“Don’t you _udesii_ me, Kenobi; answer the _shabla_ question!”

A sigh. “…Mainly. But it was also, I think at least partly, out of…well…shame.”

“Shame?” He scoffed. “I got my entire people practically wiped out single-handed; what on _Mandalore_ could you have to be ashamed for?”

“…Adding it all up, the grand total time I spent as a slave was just shy of twenty-four hours.”

“…Twenty-four hours.”

“Yes.”

“Twenty. Four. Hours.”

_“Yes.”_

“Then how the _shab_ did you learn all that? Knocking twice for _Ekkreth,_ then three times for _Skywalker?_ How did you manage to pick up _that much Amatakka_ in less than a...”

 _Click._ “Oh. You didn’t, did you. Someone got you out…didn’t they?”

A nod.

“And then you both went back for the others, am I right? Running Freedom Flights, or something like them?”

Another nod.

“And would I be correct in assuming this mysterious person not only _introduced_ you to that lovely brother of yours, but was also one of those renegade Jedi the Order likes to pretend don’t exist?”

“In much the same way that Ky Narec was, yes. How could you tell?”

“What, like the _Sith_ would ever want to free the slaves?”

“You’d be surprised. Would you mind putting me down now?”

Slowly, he let Kenobi’s feet hit the ground. “So. It all makes sense, now. Why you act like you used to be a Jedi and Maul doesn’t. It was a Jedi, one of your Masters, who let you be enslaved, wasn’t it?”

“…I’m afraid so.”

His breath caught in his chest. “And you didn’t want me to know because…because…”

“Because in some ways its too much like what happened to you…and in some ways, not enough.”

“Don’t say that; don’t you _ever_ say that. You hear me?”

“…I hear you.” Kenobi dusted off his pauldrons, and straightened his cuirass. “Mind you, Maul had it far worse than I ever did. And he knows even less about _Amatakka_ than I do.”

He couldn’t help it; he snorted. “You had a _Whitesun_ teaching you, Kenobi. I’m pretty sure most of us know less than you about it.”

“I don’t know how to make _tzai.”_

 _That_ stopped him dead in his tracks. “…You’re kidding.”

“I’m afraid not. Like you said, renegade Jedi. No attachments means no family, means no recipe. Which means neither I nor Maul can quite replicate it.”

“… _Osik,_ Kenobi; I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not like there’s not others out there worse off.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry in that…I can’t…”

He took a deep breath, and let it all out. “I don’t actually know how to make _tzai_ either.”

This time it was Kenobi’s turn to say, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m really, really _not.”_

“Ten years, and no one, not _one person,_ adopted you into their family?”

“Would you?”

The answer surprised him. “…Yes; yes I rather think I would.”

“I…well…huh.” For once, he was truly stumped. “Guess that makes you the only one, then. People aren’t too keen on adding a farmer-turned-terrorist into their clan, if you get what I mean.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Came Kenobi’s dry retort. “Now come along; we’ve got work to do. Oh, and…if you could avoid mentioning this to Maul? He gets…uptight, about things like this.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

They laughed all the way back to the hangar.

* * *

Maul could feel Ventress’ tension from the moment she entered the room.

Fortunately, it seemed to be mostly directed inward, as she barely spoke at all during the briefing, and even then it was only after being directly called on.

Multiple times.

The minute Ohnaka’s insufferable self declared everything under control and the meeting over (a sure sign something was most definitely _not_ under control and the meeting should probably not be over), he immediately stood and, without a word, swung his _vod’ika_ up over his shoulder and vacated the premises. Whatever the problem was, he trusted Ohnaka to handle it. Or Skirata and Vau to keep the pirate from handling it. Right now, he had an extremely irate little sister to deal with.

“Put me down _right_ now, Maul! I swear to the Force if you don’t…”

He let her hit the ground with a thud. “I did. Now fight me.”

She glared up at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re distracted, and the only way I know of for you to be ­ _un-_ distracted in time for the plan is for you to work off some steam. That, and you need to get used to your new blade. Now fight me.”

And so they fought.

She was better than he expected; then again, he wasn’t expecting much. He’d only ever seen her fight twice before, and the one time she’d actually managed to draw on the full power of the Dark Side had been with her dead Master fresh in her memory. If his saber had not been missing a crystal, she would already be dead.

“You are slow.” He taunted. “You are _weak._ Your rage is but an ember sputtering in the cold wind of the Force; if you are to fight, and you will, you must fight as if for your _life!”_

She snarled, and attacked. 

Farther and farther he pushed her, never faltering, never wavering, until at last…

Her presence in the Force narrowed to a single, driven point…and then exploded. And in the aftermath, all of her presence that was left was a single, hardened slab of obsidian.

“Oh.” Her eyes were shining electrum. “Is that how you meditate? I mean, in the Dark?”

“It is an acceptable method. There are others, but they require much longer to teach. Now,” he sank into a lotus position on the floor, “comes the second part. Telling someone you trust, in this case, me, what the focal point of your unease was.”

She frowned, but followed him down onto the mat. “It’s…complicated.”

“It usually is. Things are never pure, and rarely simple.”

“Exactly. It’s…well, it’s just that…”

She was growing nervous; time to put a stop to it, or they’d have to go all over again. “Stop. Breathe in, then out. And when you are ready, continue.”

She did so. “…Earlier. Before the meeting; Hondo came in.”

“Ah. I see. Did he…?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Well, no more than any scoundrel would. No, he said something. Something that…got me thinking.”

Oh joy.

“Maul…” She took a deep breath. “Do you think Obi-Wan likes me?”

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Well…” He began. How to put this? “There does seem to be a…closeness…between you that I have only seen him grant to few others.”

One in particular. The Duchess; she whose death had been such a waste. “Did Ohnaka insinuate as such?”

She blushed. “…More like, the reverse.”

Now _that_ was a much easier thing to discuss. “I can see how he might think such. Would it be such a bad thing if he turned out to be correct?”

“No…at least, I don’t think so.”

“In that case, my dear, what I would recommend is that you, as the phrase goes, sit on it. Wait until after, when neither you nor he can be distracted. And then let the Force guide where it wills.”

“You’re sure? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Why should I? He’s my brother. This will make for excellent blackmail material.”

She slugged him. “ _Shab’ika.”_

 _“Vod’ika._ Now, I can’t help but be a bit curious: just exactly which crystals did you end up using?”

“Well, Master Narec’s for the first, and then for the second…yours.”

“…Curious.”

“What? That I used two crystals?”

“No, that you should use mine. Originally, it belong to a rather famous Sith; one of the most powerful Sorcerers of Bane’s line. It was her design of saber that I adapted for my own.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name…was Darth Zannah. A most powerful person, indeed. It seems you are destined for great things, my dear. Great and terrible things, indeed.”

* * *

_Author’s Note: A lot of people seem confused as to what sort of relationship Maul and Satine could ever hope to have. I have exactly three words to share as an answer: Niles and Cici. I shall leave the rest to your imagination._

_Oh wait, I’m the one writing. Never mind. I guess I’ll have to leave it to my imagination. Curses; foiled again!_

_As an aside, it’s always bothered me how Ferus Olin was Siri Tachi’s apprentice. If you do the math, she would’ve had to have taken him on when she was just sixteen. And that’s No Bueno. So, for the purposes of this story, Ferus Olin had another Master before Siri, and they died just a short while before this story begins._

_The back-and-forth between Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker is a traditional part of Tatooine Slave Culture, which was first described, pioneered, and developed by the wonderful author Fialleril in his “Double Agent Vader” series. All except the “Starlight was my mother” quote, which is from Destiny._

_Also the Bando Gora Cult never happened. Because screw Abeloth. Peace!_


End file.
